THE  ETHEL  CARR  PEACOCK 

MEMORIAL  COLLECTION 


Matris  amori  monumentum 


Gift  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Dred  Peacock 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


https://archive.org/details/sartorresartus01carl_0 


CENTENARY  EDITION 


THE  WORKS  OF 

THOMAS  CARLYLE 

IN  THIRTY  VOLUMES 


VOL.  I 

SARTOR  RESARTUS 


e]. 


A +7  / - <J  z 


THOMAS  CARLYLE 


SARTOR  RESARTUS 


THE  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF 
HERR  TEUFELSDROCKH 

IN  THREE  BOOKS 


3J!ein  ffierma^tnip,  rote  $ertli($  tteit  uni  fcreit ! 

$ie  3eit  ifi  mein  SSermacfjtnifi,  mein  2lcfer  iji  lie  3eit. 

©oetlje. 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 
153-157  FIFTH  AVENUE 
1896 


Originally  published  1831 


CONTENTS 


C 2.84.SA 

T 

AGE 

INTRODUCTION vii 


BOOK  I 


CHAP. 

I.  Preliminary  1 

II.  Editorial  Difficulties  ......  6 

III.  Reminiscences  10 

IV.  Characteristics  . . . . . . .21 

V.  The  World  in  Clothes  ......  27 

VI.  Aprons  33 

VII.  Miscellaneous-historical  ......  35 

VIII.  The  World  out  of  Clothes  .....  39 

IX.  Adamitism  ........  45 

X.  Pure  Reason 50 

XI.  Prospective 55 


BOOK  II 


I.  Genesis 64 

II.  Idyllic 71 

III.  Pedagogy 80 

IV.  Getting  under  Way 95 

V.  Romance .106 

VI.  Sorrows  of  Teufelsdrockh  . . . . .119 

VII.  The  Everlasting  No 128 

VIII.  Centre  of  Indifference 135 

IX.  The  Everlasting  Yea  . . . . . .146 

X.  Pause  .......  157 


1514 


VI 


SARTOR  RESARTUS 


BOOK  III 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  Incident  in  Modern  History  .....  165 

II.  Church-Clothes  .......  170 

III.  Symbols  .........  173 

IV.  Helotage  . . . . . . . . .180 

V.  The  Phcenix  . . . . . . . .184 

VI.  Old  Clothes  ........  190 

VII.  Organic  Filaments  .......  194 

VIII.  Natural  Supernaturalism 202 

IX.  Circumspective 213 

X.  The  Dandiacal  Body 217 

XI.  Tailors  .........  229 

XII.  Farewell 233 

Appendix:  Testimonies  of  Authors  . . . • .241 

Index . 247 


INTRODUCTION 


Time,  the  final  judge  of  appeal  from  the  verdicts  of  successive 
ages,  is  rather  fond  of  ‘ reserving  ’ his  decisions.  Often  they 
are  held  over  for  a generation  or  more,  under  the  formula  of 
suspension  known  in  the  somewhat  ‘ late  ’ Latinity  of  the  lawyers, 
as  Curia  advisari  vult.  But  sitting  as  Lord  Justice  on  that  supreme 
appellate  tribunal  which  examines  the  claims  of  departed  writers. 
Time  has  been  ‘ swift  of  despatch  ’ in  the  case  of  Thomas  Carlyle. 
His  award  has  been  delivered  within  fifteen  years  of  Carlyle’s 
death,  and  it  confirms  the  judgment  of  his  contemporaries  as  to 
his  literary  greatness.  The  appeal  of  his  posthumous  detractors 
is  dismissed  with  costs. 

We  cannot  exactly  condole  with  the  defeated  appellants : they 
hardly  deserve  that.  But  we  can  make  some  allowance  for  them, 
for,  in  truth,  we  can  now  more  clearly  see  what  grounds  they  had 
for  taking  the  case  to  a higher  court.  Nay,  we  can  even  admit 
that  their  excuse  has  been  in  part  provided  for  them  by  the 
victorious  respondent  himself.  No  great  man  of  letters  has  ever 
so  persistently  be-littled  the  mere  art  of  literature  as  Carlyle.  It 
is  true  that  he  had  his  literary  heroes  to  point  his  discourses  on 
hero-worship — his  Johnson,  his  Rousseau,  his  Burns : surely  as 
strange  a leash  as  were  ever  strung  together, — and  of  course  not 
even  he  could  fail  to  disengage  the  matchless  art  of  Shakespeare 
from  his  philosophy,  his  morality,  his  profound  thoughts  on  life, 
and  what  not  else  among  those  high  matters  in  which  alone 
Carlyle  was  interested.  But  as  a rule,  it  is  the  direct  dogmatic 
teaching  of  a work  of  literature  (which  is  its  accident)  and  not  the 
manner  of  it,  the  aesthetic  charm,  the  emotional  appeal,  the  intel- 


viii 


INTRODUCTION 


lectual  delight,  the  spiritual  refreshment  of  it  (which  are  of  its 
essence)  that  he  values : so  that  when,  as  in  Scott’s  romances, 
he  came  across  work  which  consists  wholly  of  the  essentials  of 
literature,  detached  from  its  accidents,  the  contact  with  it  pro- 
duced a memorable  and  lamentable  effect  on  his  critical  faculty. 
Allowing,  in  short,  for  a few  inconsistencies,  Carlyle’s  attitude 
towards  literature  pure  and  simple, — literature  as  literature  — is 
uniform.  On  scores  of  pages,  in  hundreds  of  passages,  he 
enounces  or  reveals  the  opinion  that,  dissociated  from  direct 
didactic  purpose,  it  is  but  as  sounding  brass,  and  as  a tinkling 
cymbal.  The  preacher  with  him  is  immeasurably  ahead  of  the 
mere  man  of  letters,  as  perhaps  the  man  of  action  is  of  both. 

There  is  thus  a certain  poetical  justice  about  the  resistance 
offered  in  certain  quarters  to  his  decree  of  canonisation.  By 
insisting,  in  fact,  on  the  superior  dignity  of  the  prophet-preacher, 
and  by  idealising  the  silent  man  of  action — exalting  him  who  does 
nobly,  to  a level  so  vastly  higher  than  his  who  merely  writes 
nobly  of  noble  deeds — Carlyle  was  in  fact  ' briefing’  a 'devil’s 
advocate’  against  himself.  For  he  has  now  become  a prophet 
whose  prophecies  are  of  little  account ; while  in  the  domain  of 
action  and  conduct,  his  figure  as  viewed  in  the  light  thrown  on  it 
by  his  famous  biographer,  shows  distinctly  less  heroic  than  it  was 
supposed  to  have  been.  The  disclosure  of  his  personal  weaknesses 
— his  egoism,  his  ill-tempers,  his  peasant-bred  envy,  his  undue 
self-pity— passed  harmlessly,  as  all  such  disclosures  should,  and 
will  pass,  by  those  whose  admiration  had  always  centred  on  the 
writer  and  not  on  the  man ; but  it  fell  at  first  with  a most  agitat- 
ing shock  upon  those  to  whom  the  man,  the  leader,  the  master 
and  doctor,  the  teacher, — by  example,  as  was  assumed,  as  well  as 
by  precept, — counted  for  so  much  more  than  the  writer.  The  echo 
of  their  outcries  of  disenchantment  had  to  die  away  before  a hear- 
ing could  be  obtained  for  the  truth  that  Carlyle  is  neither  political 
prophet  nor  ethical  doctor,  but  simply  a great  master  of  literature 
who  lives  for  posterity  by  the  art  which  he  despised. 


INTRODUCTION 


ix 


Neither  prophet  nor  doctor : no,  nor  yet  philosopher  either. 
The  word  ‘ philosophy  ’ and  its  derivatives  are  among  the  hardest- 
worked  vocables  in  the  language.  The  substantive  has  been 
applied  to  everything,  from  a theory  of  the  universe  to  the 
minutest  researches  in  a single  branch  of  physical  science ; its 
adjectival  form  is  used  indiscriminately  to  describe  a variety  of 
the  human  temperament,  and  the  contents  of  an  optician’s  shop. 
Men,  who  never  so  much  as  heard  of  the  Stoics,  have  been  called 
‘ philosophers  ’ for  meeting  adversity  with  fortitude ; quadrants 
and  sextants  have  been  dignified  with  the  name  of  ‘ philosophical  ’ 
instruments.  And  there  was  hardly  less  laxity  in  the  employment 
of  the  word  ‘ philosophy  ’ as  applied  to  the  teachings  of  Carlyle, 
a writer  who  was  alike  ignorant  of  philosophical  systems,  and 
contemptuous  of  philosophical  method,  dismissing  the  former  as 
‘ word-spinning,’  and  the  latter  as  ‘logic  chopping,’  and  whose  own 
metaphysic  was  a mere  tissue  of  poetic  rhapsodies,  as  his  ethic  was 
a mere  series  of  intuitional  and  unreasoned  dogmas.  One  hardly 
knows  whether  Carlyle  himself  was  aware  of  the  popular  designa- 
tion of  him  in  later  years  as  the  ‘philosopher  of  Chelsea,’  or,  if  he 
was,  what  he  thought  of  the  cognomen.  But  there  can,  at  least,  be 
no  doubt  that  the  appellation  was  one  which  he  ought  in  common 
consistency  to  have  emphatically,  if  not  indignantly,  repudiated. 

It  is  interesting,  indeed,  to  inquire  what  system  of  philosophy 
the  disciples  of  the  master  could  have  managed  to  extract  from  his 
writings.  A philosopher,  whether  so  self-styled  or  not,  may  be 
expected  either  to  suggest  some  speculative  solution  of  the 
problems  of  man’s  origin,  man’s  destiny,  man’s  duty,  and  above 
all,  man’s  relation  to  the  external  world,  or,  if  he  is  a pure  sceptic, 
definitely  to  pronounce  these  problems  unsoluble.  But,  while 
Carlyle  would  presumably  have  rejected  pure  dogmatic  scepticism, 
such  as  Hume’s,  with  impatience,  there  is,  nevertheless,  not  one 
of  the  questions  connected  with  these  high  matters,  to  which  he 
has  any  definite  answer  to  propound.  To  some  of  them  he  offers 
no  reply  at  all ; to  others  he  replies  according  to  the  personal 

b 


X 


INTRODUCTION 


mood,  or  the  controversial  exigencies,  of  the  moment,  and 
therefore  in  half-a-dozen  different  ways.  He  seems  on  the 
metaphysical  side  to  have  been  more  or  less  unconsciously  a 
Fichtean  Idealist : at  any  rate  no  transcendental  German  of  them 
all,  has  insisted  more  strongly  on  the  supremacy  and  even  the 
solitude  of  the  individual  consciousness,  and  on  the  shadowy 
nature  of  the  external  world  of  sense  Yet  the  ethical  affinities 
of  this  theory  of  perception,  and  its  easy  avenues  of  exit  into 
indifferentism,  fatalism,  hedonism,  and  many  other  c isms,’  which 
he  would  have  heartily  objurgated,  never  seems  to  have  occurred 
to  him.  There  is  no  sign  of  his  having  appreciated  the  difficulty, 
yet  the  necessity,  of  fitting  his  metaphysical  idealism  into  the 
framework  of  his  essentially  and  austerely  realistic  ethics. 

As  to  those  ethics  themselves,  and  the  moral  cosmology,  so  to 
call  it,  with  which  they  were  associated,  what  do  they  amount  to  ? 
That  there  is  a Divine  Creator  and  Governor  of  the  universe, 
and  a prescribed  law  of  human  conduct  which  man  will  violate  at 
his  peril ; that  the  distinctions  between  right  and  wrong  are  fixed 
from  eternity,  and  the  recognition  of  them  implanted  ineradicably 
in  the  heart  of  man ; that  truth  is  supreme  and  will  ultimately 
and  irresistibly  prevail  over  falsehood ; and  that  suffering  is  attached 
to  ill-doing  by  a law  of  inevitable  sequence — these,  and  a few 
other  correlated  dicta  of  equal  simplicity,  sum  up  the  whole  of 
Carlyle’s  theology,  just  as  they  composed  the  entire  theological 
equipment  of  the  Greek  tragedians.  As  to  his  ethics : that  the 
world  is  not  a hunting-ground  of  pleasure  but  an  arena  of  duty  ; 
that  man  must  learn  to  dispense  with  the  happiness  of  gratified 
longings,  and  to  seek  and  ensue  only  the  blessings  of  right  action ; 
and  that  whether  there  be  or  be  not  a future  state  of  rewards  and 
punishments,  the  obligation  to  such  action  is  no  less  imperative — 
in  these  maxims,  and  their  like,  are  contained  the  whole  ethical 
law  and  prophets  for  Carlyle  as  for  the  Stoics  before  him. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  one  set  of  doctrines  which  is  not  to  be 
found  in  Sophocles,  nor  anything  in  the  other  which  we  could  not 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

have  learned  from  Marcus  Aurelius ; and  since  the  dramas  of  the 
Athenian  poet,  and  the  meditations  of  the  Roman  emperor  are  still 
extant,  there  would  be  no  need  for  them  to  rise  from  the  dead, 
and  seek  a joint  re-incarnation  in  the  person  of  Carlyle. 

How  came  it  then,  it  will  be  asked,  that  this  philosopher 
without  a philosophy  exerted  so  powerful  an  influence  over 
English  thought  throughout  the  second  thirty  years  of  the  present 
century  ? and  how  comes  it  that  now,  though  that  influence  has 
long  since  spent  itself,  he  still  wields,  and  promises  to  wield  for  an 
indefinite  time  to  come,  a power  of  another  kind  ? Answers  to 
both  these  questions  are  not  far  to  seek.  The  former  of  the  two 
phenomena  is  to  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  though  Carlyle 
was  no  teacher  in  the  proper  philosophic  sense  of  the  word,  he 
was  during  the  day  of  his  influence  such  a preacher  as  the  world 
has  rarely  seen.  It  is  common  and  perhaps  natural  enough  to 
confuse  the  two  functions  of  ‘ teaching’  and  ‘ preaching,’  but  their 
distinction  is,  nevertheless,  fundamental.  To  teach  is,  in  strict- 
ness, to  impart  knowledge  to  a learner  which  he  did  not  possess 
before ; while  the  distinctive  purpose  of  preaching  is  to  give 
vitality  and  motive  power  to  knowledge  which  he  already 
possesses.  The  fact  that  in  some  cases  the  imparted  knowledge 
is  itself  new,  and  the  teacher  to  that  extent  a preacher  also,  is  an 
immaterial  accident  not  affecting  the  essence  of  his  function. 
Otherwise  a Christian  missionary  to  the  heathen  would  stand  on  the 
same  level  as  the  Founder  of  his  faith.  In  nineteen  cases,  more- 
over, out  of  twenty  the  preacher  is  not  addressing  the  heathen. 
He  does  not  deal  in  new,  but  in  forgotten,  truths.  His  object  is 
not  to  enlarge  deficient  knowledge,  but  to  awaken  slumbering  atten- 
tion ; and  his  success  in  the  attempt  will  of  course  be  measured 
partly  by  his  own  power  of  applying  the  required  intellectual  or 
moral  stimulus,  and  partly  by  the  readiness  of  his  hearers  to  receive  it. 

Seldom  has  the  concurrence  of  these  two  conditions  been  more 
complete  than  it  was  during  the  period  covered  by  Carlyle’s 
earlier  writings.  Then,  if  ever  in  human  history,  the  hour  and 


xii 


INTRODUCTION 

the  man  had  met.  The  Genius  of  the  eighteenth  century — that 
age  of  victorious  but  unsatisfying  common  sense — lay  at  its  last 
gasp.  It  had  indeed  received  its  mortal  wound  in  that  revolt 
of  the  human  spirit  against  its  contented  optimism,  from  which 
the  French  Revolution  sprang : and  its  death,  though  it  might  be 
postponed,  was  impossible  to  avert.  Eighty-Nine — if  Eighty-Nine 
had  borne  no  Jacobin  children — would  have  killed  it  outright ; and 
Coleridge  and  Wordsworth  would  have  sung  a new  Song  of 
Deborah  over  its  destruction.  But  Eighty-Nine  unfortunately  was 
too  soon  succeeded  by  Ninety-Three ; and  the  moribund  Genius 
received  a new  lease  of  life  amid  loud  rejoicings,  in  which  Coleridge 
and  Wordsworth  joined.  But  by  1830  this  lease  had  run  out,  and 
the  long  delayed  reaction  came.  The  new  generation  were  tired 
to  death  of  the  eighteenth  century  tradition,  and  profoundly 
disgusted  with  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  patrimony  which  they 
had  inherited  from  it.  They  were  sick  of  its  sandy  Utilitarianism, 
its  cast-iron  economics,  its  uninspired  and  uninspiring  theology, 
the  flat  and  deadly  prose  of  its  theory  of  life.  They  were  ripe, 
especially  the  younger  among  them,  for  rebellion  against  a system 
which  however  eminently  conformable  to  the  practical  reason,  had 
no  word  of  response  to  utter,  no  shred  of  satisfaction  to  offer  to 
those  two  most  importunate  claimants  in  human  and  especially 
in  youthful  human  nature — the  energies  and  the  emotions.  The 
new  generation  were  crying  out  for  at  least  a religion  of  action  if 
they  could  hold  no  longer  by  any  religion  of  speculative  belief. 
They  wanted  a politico-social  creed  which  would  find  room  for  the 
new  ideas  and  aspirations  rejected  or  coldly  viewed  by  the 
politicians  of  the  old  order.  Above  all  they  passionately  longed, 
as  did  the  newly  risen  Romanticists  in  France — for  a presentment 
of  human  life  in  literature  with  all  the  wealth  of  colour  and 
animation  of  movement  which  belong  to  it  in  every  age,  and  which 
they  felt  were  not  wanting  to  it  in  their  own.  They  were 
unutterably  weary  of  contemplating  the  world  as  a mere  store- 
house of  facts  and  figures,  or  as  a mechanical  creation  of  laws. 


INTRODUCTION 


xiii 

forces  and  formulas ; and  they  were  eager  to  realise  it  once  more  as 
the  scene  of  the  endless  drama  of  human  action  and  passion,  of 
struggle,  and  triumph  and  defeat. 

It  was  in  the  hour  when  this  mood  was  dominant  over  the 
younger  and  more  active  minds  throughout  educated  England 
that  the  man  appeared.  He  came  bringing  with  him  all  that  they 
asked  for,  feeling  all  that  they  felt,  hating  everything  that  they 
hated  (and  a good  deal  more  on  his  own  account)  and  filled  full  of 
the  same  ardent  if  somewhat  vague  aspirations  with  which  they 
too  were  bursting.  His  contempt  for  the  accepted  philosophy, 
the  conventional  theology,  the  current  politics  of  his  time  was 
even  more  profound  than  theirs.  The  gritty  Benthamism  of  his 
age  was  more  irritating  to  his  palate,  the  yoke  of  its  cast-iron 
economics  more  galling  to  his  shoulders.  He  was  even  more 
impatient  of  ‘laws,  forces  and  formulae’  than  they,  even  more 
impressed  than  they  with  the  superiority  of  action  to  thought  and 
its  immeasurable  superiority  to  words.  Had  his  powers  of 
expression  been  only  a little  above  the  average ; had  his 
enthusiasm  of  the  preacher  glowed  to  no  extraordinary  pitch  of 
ardour,  he  could  not  have  failed  to  obtain  a hearing.  What 
wonder  then,  that  with  the  passionate  force  of  conviction  which 
animated  his  utterances,  and  the  marvellous  mastery  of  language 
which  went  to  the  shaping  of  them,  he  should  alike  have  stormed 
the  heart  and  carried  captive  the  intellect  of  his  age  ? 

This,  of  course,  is  not  to  say  that  the  Preacher  of  the  Thirties 
had  anything  like  the  congregation  that  ‘ sat  under  ’ him  during 
the  two  succeeding  decades — that  the  Carlyle  of  Sartor  Resartus 
had  a tithe  of  the  following  that  attended  on  the  Carlyle  of 
Past  and  Present,  and  the  Latter  Day  Pamphlets.  No  more  is  meant 
than  that  his  earliest  writings  caught  the  ear  of  that  tribus 
proerogativa  of  his  countrymen  whose  suffrage  in  such  cases  is  to  be 
taken  first,  and  who  think  to-day  what  the  great  body  of  their 
fellow-citizens  will  think  to-morrow.  Their  suffrage  however  he 
certainly  won — if  not  unanimously,  3ret  at  least,  from  all  of  them. 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

save  those  who  still  clung  to  the  belief  that  salvation  was  to  be 
found  in  politics,  and  who  looked,  inconsiderately  enough,  for  a 
pioneer  of  the  future  in  that  new  Radicalism  which  was  essentially 
the  offspring,  and  in  many  respects  the  degraded  offspring,  of  the 
immediate  past.  But  a very  few  years’  experience  of  a Reformed 
Parliament  sufficed  to  make  converts  of  them  also.  They  found 
that  the  new  Radical  was  politically  and  philosophically  as  unhelp- 
ful as  the  old  Whig  whom  he  had  supplanted ; that  his  social 
ideals  were  no  less  inadequate  and  much  more  vulgar  than  those 
of  his  predecessor ; and  that  his  general  views  of  the  world  and 
life  were  those  of  an  infinitely  more  'dreary  dog.’  By  the  end  of 
the  decade  the  process  of  disenchantment  was  complete.  The 
same  great  turn  of  the  political  tide  which  swept  the  Liberals  out 
of  power,  and  brought  in  the  great  Conservative  majority  of  1841, 
had  its  intellectual  counterpart  in  the  movement  which  two  years 
later  brought  a whole  multitude  of  new  disciples  round  the  author  of 
Past  and  Present.  From  this  year  we  may  perhaps  most  safely  date 
the  commencing  growth  of  that  strictly  didactic  influence  which 
was  to  go  on  steadily  increasing  for  the  next  quarter  of  a century. 

As  for  the  rest  of  Carlyle’s  countrymen — for  that  proportion  of 
them  (and  it  was  no  inconsiderable  one),  who  remained  uninflu- 
enced by  him  for  a yet  longer  time,  and  many  of  whom  died, 
indeed,  in  their  hardness  of  heart — their  case  also  is  intelligible 
enough.  They  were  alienated  and  repelled  by  that  very  element 
in  Carlyle’s  writings,  which,  now  that  his  preachings  are  out  of 
date,  remains  their  one  element  of  life— their  literary  quality. 
Nor  should  this  appear  a paradox  even  to  those  who  were  not 
born  into  the  world  until  Carlyle  had  attained  the  position  of  an 
established  and  accepted  master  in  letters.  They  should  be  able, 
imaginatively  at  any  rate,  to  realise  to  themselves  the  distress- 
ing shock  which  was  given  to  the  elder  world  of  literary  purists 
by  the  first  and  yet  more  by  the  second  publication  of  Carlyle  in 
‘ Carlylese,’  and  the  effects  of  which  survived  among  them,  plainly 
perceptible  down  to  a period  well  within  the  memory  of  men  not 


INTRODUCTION 


xv 


long  past  middle  age.  It  was  naturally  The  French  Revolution 
which  dealt  the  rudest  blow  at  their  susceptibilities.  Sartor  Resartus 
could  be  neglected  as  a mere  subjective  rhapsody;  but  the  grave 
or  professedly  grave  history  of  one  of  the  gravest  of  modern 
events  was  another  matter.  A work  of  that  description,  from  the 
pen  of  a writer  already  rising  into  celebrity  compelled  the  atten- 
tion of  the  whole  educated  public  to  its  contents,  and  therewith 
of  necessity  to  its  style.  And  what  a style  ! exclaimed  the  elder 
world  of  literary  purists,  absolutely  aghast.  Was  it  even  a 'style’ 
at  all  ? Could  you  any  more  discuss  it  as  a style,  than  you  could 
debate  the  merits  of  ‘ oratory  ’ which  did  not  condescend  to 
begin  by  being  an  articulate  utterance  ? If  excellence  of  style 
(they  continued,  breathless)  consisted  partly  in  the  choice  of 
words,  and  partly  in  their  collocation,  what  was  to  be  said  of  a 
writer  who  fetched  his  words  from  anywhere,  and  flung  them 
down  anyhow  upon  the  page  ? Was  it  for  this  hotch-pot  of 
vocabular  monstrosities,  this  witches’  caldron  of  disjointed  sen- 
tences, outlandish  compounds,  fantastic  nicknames,  extravagant 
metaphors  and  obscure  allusions,  that  the  world  was  asked  to 
exchange  the  gravity,  the  lucidity,  the  eloquence  of  the  accepted 
masters  of  historical  narrative — the  simple  but  nervous  English  of 
Hume,  the  polished  periods  and  majestic  cadences  of  Gibbon? 
What  would  be  the  fate  of  our  prose  literature  if  the  so-called 
style  were  to  be  tolerated  and  find  imitators  ? And  what,  O ! 
what  would  become  of  the  ‘ dignity  of  history,’  if  this  was  how 
history  was  to  be  written  in  the  future  ? 

Such  were  the  alarmed  inquiries  and  despairing  cries  which 
Carlyle’s  writings  drew  from  the  elder  generation,  and  the  echo  of 
which  was  still  clearly  audible  until  the  majority  of  that  generation 
had  passed  away.  Well  on  into  the  Sixties  it  was  still  to  be  heard, 
and  some  of  us  who  were  then  in  our  own  twenties  will  remember 
how  many  grey-beards  were  then  extant,  who,  while  fully  abreast 
of  the  time  in  most  of  their  ideas,  nay,  often  admirers  of  the 
genius,  and  even  adherents  to  the  opinions  of  Carlyle,  continued 


xvi 


INTRODUCTION 


still  to  deplore  the  form  of  their  expression,  and  sometimes  to 
declare  roundly  that  all  their  interested  and  approving  study  of 
his  works  had  not  even  yet  reconciled  them  to  his  ‘jargon.’  The 
young  men  of  the  period,  or  those  of  them  who  were  growing  up 
into  Carlyle’s  public,  were  not  of  course  partakers  with  their 
seniors  in  this  holy  horror,  but  they  could  not  help  being  to  some 
extent  impressed  by  it.  The  fascination  which  he  exercised  over 
them  was  extraordinary ; one  despairs  of  ever  making  it  intel- 
ligible to  the  youth  of  a generation  for  whom  Carlyle’s  proportions 
though  imposing  are  no  longer  heroic : but  there  was  always  a 
guilty  after-feeling  about  their  enthusiasm  for  him,  and  they 
indulged  it  privily,  like  a secret  vice.  Their  consciousness  of 
absolute  surrender  to  this  ‘corrupter  of  pure  English  ’ cost  them 
frequent  searchings  of  heart.  Many  a time  and  oft  did  they  ask 
themselves,  whether  it  might  not  be  the  novelty  and  originality  of 
Carlyle’s  matter  which  made  them  not  merely  tolerate,  but  fancy 
that  they  delighted  in,  the  ‘jargon  ’ in  which  it  was  written,  and 
whether,  therefore,  when  the  attraction  of  the  matter  ceased 
for  them,  the  ‘jargon’  might  not  become  detestable?  Time  has 
answerered  their  question  for  them ; and  the  doubts  which 
disturbed  the  youth  of  twenty  no  longer  trouble  him  who  has 
' come  to  fifty  year.’  The  novelty  of  Carlyle’s  writings  has  long 
since  disappeared ; all  of  their  supposedly  didactic,  and  much 
even  of  their  hortatory,  influence  is  extinct ; but  their  charm  is 
imperishable,  and  the  belief  once  so  confidently  declared  that  no 
prose  literature  which  did  not  conform  to  correct  and  classic  models 
could  hope  to  stand  the  test  of  time  has  thus  far  derived  no 
confirmation  from  the  case  of  Carlyle. 

We  can  still  see  and  admit  that  there  was  an  element  of  reason 
in  the  fears  of  our  parents,  and  an  element  of  truth  in  their 
contention ; but  we  can  now  also  discern  the  due  limits  both  of 
the  one  and  of  the  other.  There  was  ground  for  the  apprehension 
that  the  literary  example  of  Carlyle  would  be  mischievous,  and,  in 
so  far  as  he  has  found  imitators,  it  has  so  proved.  But  such  imitators 


INTRODUCTION 


xvii 


have  been  almost  invariably  mere  mimics  of  his  mannerisms,  with 
no  thoughts  of  their  own  to  express,  nor  probably  any  natural 
manner  of  their  own  to  spoil  by  the  affectation  ; and  the  Carlylian 
style  is  too  distinctively  shaped  and  coloured  by  the  Cai'lylian 
individuality  to  tempt  any  writer  with  an  individuality  of  his  own 
to  adopt  it.  English  prose,  in  short,  appears  on  the  whole  to  be 
much  what  it  would  have  been  if  Carlyle  had  never  lived ; he  has 
made  not  a hundredth  part  of  the  impression  on  it  that  it  received, 
for  instance,  from  Macaulay.  There  was  justice  again  in  the 
contention  that  that  prose  style  of  ours  which  has  been  slowly 
perfecting  itself  throughout  the  two  centuries  that  have  passed 
since  the  day  of  Dryden,  is  the  best  possible  mould  in  which  the 
historian  can  cast  his  narrative,  or  the  philosopher  his  thoughts. 
Carlyle  wherever  he  has  a commonplace  tale  to  tell  is  himself 
the  witness ; he  has  proved  the  point  over  many  a long  dry  tract 
of  his  Frederick , where  the  jerky  emphasis  of  his  manner  of 
narrating  what  could  not  be  narrated  too  unemphatically,  becomes 
a mere  weariness  to  the  flesh.  But  this  contention  of  his  censors 
overlooks  the  fact  that  rules  without  exceptions  are  as  rai’e  in 
literature  as  in  life,  and  that  to  a genius  of  exceptional  and 
indeed  unique  character  rules  of  style  must  bend.  It  fails  to 
recognise  that — in  the  literary  art  at  any  rate — the  claim  of 
symmetry,  of  formal  beauty,  though  great,  is  not  paramount,  but 
that  the  adequacy  of  the  medium  of  expression  to  the  thing  to  be 
expresssed,  must  always  be  the  first  consideration.  For  so  many- 
sided  and  many-coloured  a genius  as  Carlyle’s  with  his  throng  of 
commanding  faculties — his  fiery  eloquence,  his  rugged  pathos,  his 
grim  and  caustic  humour,  his  unrivalled  talent  for  word-portraiture 
and  picturesque  description — all  struggling,  sometimes  almost 
simultaneously,  to  express  themselves,  there  was  but  one  possible 
language — the  Carlylese.  And  whatever  may  happen  to  the  'claim 
of  style,’  whatever  may  become  of  the  'dignity  of  history,’  we  may 
be  sure  that  so  long  as  eloquence,  and  pathos,  and  humour,  and 
vivid  portraiture  and  picturesque  description  retain  their  power  to 


xviii 


INTRODUCTION 

move  and  delight  mankind,  Carlyle’s  place  in  the  admiration  of 
posterity  will  be  secure. 

It  would  be  superfluous  in  this  place,  I think,  to  attempt  anything 
like  a complete  biography  of  Carlyle,  in  however  condensed  a form. 
The  main  incidents  of  his  life,  and  in  particular  the  history  of  his 
middle  and  later  years,  must  be  already  too  familiar  to  most  readers 
not  only  from  Mr.  Froude’s  pages,  but  from  the  flood  of  studies, 
sketches,  letters,  reminiscences,  and  the  like,  which  has  poured 
forth  in  such  unbroken  volume  since  his  death.  It  will  be  more 
to  the  purpose  of  an  introduction  to  the  first  volume  of  this  new 
edition  of  his  works,  to  confine  myself  mainly  to  such  details  of  the 
author’s  life  as  are  to  be  gathered  from  those  passages  of  Sartor 
Resartus,  which  can  with  reasonable  certainty  be  identified  as 
autobiographical.  In  a sense,  no  doubt,  it  might  be  said  that  this 
remarkable  work — by  some  admirers  regarded  as  the  greatest,  and 
by  none  denied  to  be  the  most  characteristic,  of  all  his  writings 
— is  autobiographical  from  first  to  last.  It  is  unquestionably  a 
minute  and  faithful  history  of  Carlyle’s  intellectual  and  spiritual 
experiences,  which,  of  course,  is  the  main  thing.  There  can  be 
no  doubt,  for  instance,  that  Pedagogy  (Book  II.,  chap,  iii.)  records 
the  author’s  bitter  memories  of  what  he  deemed  his  perverse  and 
unintelligent  schooling,  and  barren  University  course.  We  know 
as  a fact,  that  the  three  great  chapters  in  this  same  Book  II.  ‘ The 
Everlasting  No,’  ‘ Centre  of  Indifference,’  and  ‘ The  Everlasting 
Yea,’  give  the  history  of  the  shipwreck  of  his  early  faith,  his  fierce 
struggle  in  the  waters  of  blank  materialism,  and  his  ultimate 
winning  to  that  bleak,  but  at  least  habitable,  island  of  the  Stoics 
whereon  he  spent  the  remainder  of  his  days.  We  know,  or 
believe  ourselves  to  know  the  exact  date  and  place  of  these 
memorable  wrestlings ; that  their  crisis  occurred  in  the  month  of 
June  18£1,  in  Edinburgh  (the  so-called  ‘French  Capital’  of 
Book  II.,  chap,  vii.)  and  that  the  Rue  Saint-Thomas  d’Enfer,  in 
which  the  wrestler  ‘shook  base  fear  away  from  him  for  ever,’  is 
no  other  than  Leith  Walk  in  that  city. 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

So  too,  we  can  plausibly  identify  the  days  of  his  schoolmaster- 
ship  at  Kirkcaldy ; and  the  probable  or  possible  original  of 
' Blumine,’  the  heroine  of  the  exquisite  chapter  entitled  ‘ Romance/ 
— that  solitary  meadow,  green  and  sunlit,  that  breaks  the  stern 
mountain  scenery  of  the  Third  Book — has  been  it  seems  dis- 
covered in  the  person  of  Miss  Gordon,  an  ex-pupil  of  Edward 
Irving’s.  We  can  trace  his  earliest  introduction  to  London  society, 
and  his  discontent  with  it ; we  can  find  a distinct  enough 
adumbration  of  his  mother  in  Gretchen  Futteral,  if  little  or  none 
of  his  father  in  Andreas ; and,  indeed,  it  is  likely  enough,  I suppose, 
that  an  acute  and  diligent  student  of  Sartor  Resartus,  with  a 
biography  at  hand  for  constant  reference,  might  be  able  to  track 
Carlyle  under  the  disguise  of  Herr  Von  Teufelsdrockh  along  the 
highway  of  life,  past  all  those  sixteen  year-stones  which  divide  the 
Edinburgh  student  days  of  1818  from  the  date  of  the  first  start- 
ling apparition  of  Sartor  in  Fraser’s  Magazine  for  November  1833. 

But  it  must  of  course  be  borne  in  mind  that  any  strict  parallel- 
ism between  the  author  and  his  creation  is  not  to  be  expected. 
With  his  head  full  of  German  literature  and  thought — the  only 
subject  on  which  for  several  years  past  he  had  been  able  to  obtain 
a hearing  in  the  London  periodical  press,  it  was  natural  enough 
that  Carlyle  should  have  made  an  imaginary  German  Professor 
the  vehicle  of  his  opinions.  But  to  have  'stood’  for  the  portrait 
in  every  detail  would  have  defeated  his  own  purpose,  since  it 
would  have  made  it  impossible  for  him  without  the  appearance  of 
undue  egotism  to  enlarge  as  admiringly  as,  both  for  didactic  and 
artistic  reasons,  he  required  to  do  on  the  moral  attractions  and 
intellectual  powers  of  the  author  of  the  Clothes  Philosophy. 
Nevertheless,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that,  for  instance,  in  the 
following  criticism  of  the  Professor’s  literary  style,  he  was 
humorously  'posing’  Thomas  Carlyle  as  the  model  for  his  portrait 
of  Diogenes  von  Teufelsdrockh  : — 

' In  respect  of  style  our  Author  manifests  the  same  genial  capability, 
marred  too  often  by  the  same  rudeness,  inequality,  .and  apparent  want  of 


XX 


INTRODUCTION 


intercourse  with  the  higher  classes.  Occasionally,  as  above  hinted,  we 
find  consummate  vigour,  a true  inspiration  ; his  burning  thoughts  step 
forth  in  fit  burning  words,  like  so  many  full-formed  Minervas,  issuing 
amid  flame  and  splendour  from  Jove’s  head;  a rich,  idiomatic  diction, 
picturesque  allusions,  fiery  poetic  emphasis,  or  quaint  tricksy  turns  ; all 
the  graces  and  terrors  of  a wild  Imagination,  wedded  to  the  clearest 
Intellect,  alternate  in  beautiful  vicissitude.  Were  it  not  that  sheer 
sleeping  and  soporific  passages  ; circumlocutions,  repetitions,  touches 
even  of  pure  doting  jargon,  so  often  intervene  !’ 

‘ On  the  whole,'  he  continues, — and  here  the  keen  and  caustic 
analysis  discloses  itself  even  more  obviously  as  self-criticism, — 
‘ Professor  Teufelsdroekh  is  not  a cultivated  writer.’ 

‘ Of  his  sentences  perhaps  not  more  than  nine-tenths  stand  straight  on 
their  legs ; the  remainder  are  in  quite  angular  attitudes,  huttressed-up 
by  props  (of  parentheses  and  dashes),  and  ever  with  this  or  the  other 
tagrag  hanging  from  them  ; a few  even  sprawl-out  helplessly  on  all 
sides,  quite  broken-backed  and  dismembered.’ 

Fascinating  however  as  the  hunt  for  autobiographical  touches 
in  Sartor  Eesartus  may  be  to  the  reader  of  to-day,  it  had  of  course 
no  interest  for  the  reader  of  sixty  years  ago.  He  was  thrown 
back  on  the  thought,  the  poetry,  the  humour,  the  general  drift 
and  purpose  of  the  book,  and  he  had  to  make  what  he  could  of 
it  in  that  way.  In  many  cases  probably  the  unfortunate  man 
endeavoured  to  read  it  ‘for  the  story,’  though  if  the  effect  of 
attacking  Sir  Charles  Grandison  in  that  spirit  would  have  been 
as  Johnson  held,  to  drive  the  student  to  suicide,  the  study  of 
Sartor  Eesartus  on  the  same  principle  would  assuredly  seem  the 
path  of  madness.  It  may  be  that  a grim  sense  of  the  comedy  of 
this  mystification  led  Carlyle  to  exaggerate  his  obscurity,  per- 
versity, eccentricity,  of  malice  prepense.  He  had  as  we  know 
an  immense  admiration  for  Sterne,  and  the  notion  of  applying 
the  method  of  ‘Tristram  Shandy’  on  a cosmic  scale  so  to  speak, 
may  well  have  jumped  with  his  sardonic  humour.  And  that,  no 
doubt,  is  why  to  the  genuine  lovers  not  merely  of  the  dramatically 
comic  in  Sterne’s  masterpiece  (which  is  his  sole  attraction  for 
most  readers),  but  of  the  subjectively  fantastic  in  Sterne  himself 


INTRODUCTION  xxi 

(which  is  not  near  so  extensively  appreciated),  the  very  manner 
and  arrangement  of  Sartor  Resartus  contribute  to  its  charm. 

Its  central  conception,  its  grund-idee,  as  Professor  Teufels- 
drockh  would  have  called  it,  lends  itself  with  admirable  aptitude 
to  the  Sternian  style  of  treatment.  For  the  Clothes  Philosophy, 
as  formulated  by  Carlyle,  through  the  mouth  of  the  Professor, 
affords  perpetual  opportunities  of  the  abruptest  transit  from  the 
infinitely  great  to  the  infinitesimally  little.  The  constant  sugges- 
tion of  gigantic  incongruity — its  perpetual  temptation  to  the 
author,  after  lifting  his  reader  into  the  transcendental  empyrean, 
suddenly  to  ‘dump  him  down’  on  the  flattest  flats  of  the  earthly- 
ignoble  world,  has  often  proved  irresistible  to  many  a lesser 
humorist  than  Carlyle.  But,  with  him  it  is  never  resisted : nor 
can  any  judicious  critic  desire  that  it  should  be.  For,  even  if  we 
were  to  deduct  from  Sartor  Resartus  the  pure  poetic,  the  pure 
picturesque,  the  eloquence,  passion,  and  profoundity  with  which 
the  book  abounds,  it  would  still  remain  a monument  of  ' world- 
humour,’  such  as  has  been  rarely  raised  in  such  Titanic  dimensions 
in  the  world’s  history.  This  would  be  so,  even  if  the  humoristic 
treatment  of  the  idea  were  less  richly  imaginative  than  it  is.  To 
have  carried  the  ‘Clothes  Philosophy  from  earth  to  heaven — 
from  the  uniform  of  the  Dandiacal  Body  ’ to  the  lebendiges  Klcid 
der  Gottheit ; to  have  traced  the  principle  of  the  symbolic  from 
its  highest  to  its  lowest  manifestations,  and  to  have  so  displayed 
all  matter  as  the  mere  vesture  of  spirit  that  the  mind  at  once 
recognises  the  essential  affinity  between  the  visible  Cosmos  and 
the  beadle’s  cocked  hat — this  was  an  achievement  in  the  tran- 
scendental-humorous, which  in  itself  deserves  to  be  held  in  ever- 
lasting remembrance,  not  only  in  the  record  of  literature,  but  in 
the  history  of  human  thought. 

How  could  such  a thesis  have  been  methodically  treated  ? If  its 
treatment  had  not  partaken  of  the  vast  incongruity  of  the  subject 
it  would  have  been  artistically  amiss.  Worthy,  but  too  serious 
souls  have  striven,  and  will  no  doubt  for  ever  strive  to  find  in 


xxii 


INTRODUCTION 

Sarlor  Resartus  a consistent  and  continuously  developed  ‘ argu- 
ment’; but  in  vain!  You  may  construct  a theory  of  the  matter 
which  will  carry  you  along  for  a time ; but  it  will  ‘ throw  ’ you  in 
the  end.  Book  II.  for  instance,  contains  no  doubt  the  fairly 
straightforward  and  consecutive  ‘Story  of  a Soul/ — Carlyle’s  or 
another’s,  in  all  probability  Carlyle’s ; and  encouraged  by  its 
coherence  a sanguine  reader  attacks  the  third  and  last  Book,  in 
full  belief  that  here  at  least  ‘ the  bearing  ’ of  the  Professor’s 
‘remarks’  will  be  found  to  ‘lie  in  the  application  of  them.’  But 
alas!  the  Professor  is ‘neither  to  hold  nor  to  bind.’  After  three 
chapters  of  sufficiently  plain  sailing  on  the  decay  of  creeds  and 
churches,  Teufelsdrockh  is  off  in  Chapter  IV.  in  hot  pursuit  of  a 
Socialistic  hare.  In  the  fifth  he  is  eloquently  describing  the  rise 
of  a new  Society,  Phoenix-like,  from  the  ashes  of  the  old,  and  in 
the  Sixth  he  is  in  Monmouth  Street  moralising  over  its  cast 
clothes ! Then,  in  the  next  chapter  but  one  to  that  masterpiece 
of  solemnly  sustained  burlesque,  we  are  being  borne  along  through 
the  wonderful  chapter  on  ‘ Natural  Supernaturalism  ' to  its  magni- 
ficent close,  perhaps  the  grandest  and  most  awe-inspired  exercise 
on  the  everlasting  theme  ‘ O World,  O Life,  O Time ! ’ that 
exists  in  human  language.  And  then — well  then,  within  three 
pages,  we  are  revelling  in  the  broad  buffoonery  of  ‘The 
Dandiacal  Body,’  and  the  sardonic  irony  of  the  plea  for  Tailors. 
After  which — Chapter  the  Last  and  Farewell. 

No ! Let  the  commentator  too  enamoured  of  method  desist 
from  his  useless  labours  and  leave  Sartor  Resartus  to  stand  for  what 
it  is — a fantastic  but  splendid  rhapsody,  laden  with  thought, 
glowing  with  imagination  and  passion,  pungent  with  irony ; to 
the  prosaic  a stumbling-block,  and  to  the  humourless  foolishness, 
but  to  all  who  bring  to  the  reading  of  it  some  slight  share  of  its 
own  qualities  an  unfailing  source  of  spiritual  refreshment  and 
intellectual  delight. 


H.  D.  TRAILL. 


SARTOR  RESARTUS 


BOOK  FIRST 


CHAPTER  I 
PRELIMINARY 

No  Philosophy  of  Clothes  yet,  notwithstanding  all  our  Science.  Strangely 
forgotten  that  Man  is  by  nature  a naked  animal.  The  English  mind 
all-too  practically  absorbed  for  any  such  inquiry.  Not  so,  deep-thinking 
Germany.  Advantage  of  Speculation  having  free  course.  Editor  receives 
from  Professor  Teufelsdrockh  his  new  Work  on  Clothes. 


Considering  our  present  advanced  state  of  culture,  and  how  the 
Torch  of  Science  has  now  been  brandished  and  borne  about, 
with  more  or  less  effect,  for  five  thousand  years  and  upwards ; 
how,  in  these  times  especially,  not  only  the  Torch  still  burns, 
and  perhaps  more  fiercely  than  ever,  but  innumerable  Rush- 
lights, and  Sulphur-matches,  kindled  thereat,  are  also  glancing 
in  every  direction,  so  that  not  the  smallest  cranny  or  doghole 
in  Nature  or  Art  can  remain  unilluminated, — it  might  strike 
the  reflective  mind  with  some  surprise  that  hitherto  little  or 
nothing  of  a fundamental  character,  whether  in  the  way  of 
Philosophy  or  History,  has  been  written  on  the  subject  of 
Clothes. 

Our  Theory  of  Gravitation  is  as  good  as  perfect : Lagrange, 
it  is  well  known,  has  proved  that  the  Planetary  System,  on 
this  scheme,  will  endure  forever  ; Laplace,  still  more  cunningly, 
even  guesses  that  it  could  not  have  been  made  on  any  other 


A 


2 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

scheme.  Whereby,  at  least,  our  nautical  Logbooks  can  be 
better  kept ; and  water-transport  of  all  kinds  has  grown  more 
commodious.  Of  Geology  and  Geognosy  we  know  enough : 
what  with  the  labours  of  our  Werners  and  Huttons,  what  with 
the  ardent  genius  of  their  disciples,  it  has  come  about  that 
now,  to  many  a Royal  Society,  the  Creation  of  a World  is 
little  more  mysterious  than  the  cooking  of  a dumpling ; 
concerning  which  last,  indeed,  there  have  been  minds  to  whom 
the  question,  How  the  apples  were  got  in,  presented  difficulties. 
Why  mention  our  disquisitions  on  the  Social  Contract,  on  the 
Standard  of  Taste,  on  the  Migrations  of  the  Herring  P Then, 
have  we  not  a Doctrine  of  Rent,  a Theory  of  Value ; Philo- 
sophies of  Language,  of  History,  of  Pottery,  of  Apparitions, 
of  Intoxicating  Liquors  ? Man’s  whole  life  and  environment 
have  been  laid  open  and  elucidated ; scarcely  a fragment  or 
fibre  of  his  Soul,  Body,  and  Possessions,  but  has  been  probed, 
dissected,  distilled,  desiccated,  and  scientifically  decomposed  : 
our  spiritual  Faculties,  of  which  it  appears  there  are  not  a 
few,  have  their  Stewarts,  Cousins,  Royer  Collards  : every  cel- 
lular, vascular,  muscular  Tissue  glories  in  its  Lawrences, 
Majendies,  Bichats. 

How,  then,  comes  it,  may  the  reflective  mind  repeat,  that 
the  grand  Tissue  of  all  Tissues,  the  only  real  Tissue,  should 
have  been  quite  overlooked  by  Science, — the  vestural  Tissue, 
namely,  of  woollen  or  other  cloth ; which  Man’s  Soul  wears  as 
its  outmost  wrappage  and  overall ; wherein  his  whole  other 
Tissues  are  included  and  screened,  his  whole  Faculties  work, 
his  whole  Self  lives,  moves,  and  has  its  being  ? For  if,  now 
and  then,  some  straggling  broken-winged  thinker  has  cast  an 
owl’s-glance  into  this  obscure  region,  the  most  have  soared 
over  it  altogether  heedless ; regarding  Clothes  as  a property, 
not  an  accident,  as  quite  natural  and  spontaneous,  like  the 
leaves  of  trees,  like  the  plumage  of  birds.  In  all  speculations 
they  have  tacitly  figured  man  as  a Clothed  Animal ; whereas 
he  is  by  nature  a Naked  Animal ; and  only  in  certain  circum- 
stances, by  purpose  and  device,  masks  himself  in  Clothes. 


CHAP.  I.]  PRELIMINARY  3 

Shakespeare  says,  we  are  creatures  that  look  before  and  after : 
the  more  surprising  that  we  do  not  look  round  a little,  and 
see  what  is  passing  under  our  very  eyes. 

But  here,  as  in  so  many  other  cases,  Germany,  learned,  inde- 
fatigable, deep-thinking  Germany  comes  to  our  aid.  It  is,  after 
all,  a blessing  that,  in  these  revolutionary  times,  there  should 
be  one  country  where  abstract  Thought  can  still  take  shelter ; 
that  while  the  din  and  frenzy  of  Catholic  Emancipations,  and 
Rotten  Boroughs,  and  Revolts  of  Paris,  deafen  every  French 
and  every  English  ear,  the  German  can  stand  peaceful  on 
his  scientific  watch-tower ; and,  to  the  raging,  struggling 
multitude  here  and  elsewhere,  solemnly,  from  hour  to  hour, 
with  preparatory  blast  of  cowhorn,  emit  his  Horet  ihr  Herren 
und  lassefs  Euch  sagen ; in  other  words,  tell  the  Universe, 
which  so  often  forgets  that  fact,  what  o’clock  it  really  is. 
Not  unfrequently  the  Germans  have  been  blamed  for  an 
unprofitable  diligence ; as  if  they  struck  into  devious  courses, 
where  nothing  was  to  be  had  but  the  toil  of  a rough  journey ; 
as  if,  forsaking  the  gold-mines  of  finance  and  that  political 
slaughter  of  fat  oxen  whereby  a man  himself  grows  fat,  they 
were  apt  to  run  goose-hunting  into  regions  of  bilberries  and 
crowberries,  and  be  swallowed  up  at  last  in  remote  peat-bogs. 
Of  that  unwise  science,  which,  as  our  Humorist  expresses  it, 

‘ By  geometric  scale 
Doth  take  the  size  of  pots  of  ale  ; ’ 

still  more,  of  that  altogether  misdirected  industry,  which  is 
seen  vigorously  thrashing  mere  straw,  there  can  nothing 
defensive  be  said.  In  so  far  as  the  Germans  are  chargeable 
with  such,  let  them  take  the  consequence.  Nevertheless  be 
it  remarked,  that  even  a Russian  steppe  has  tumuli  and 
gold  ornaments ; also  many  a scene  that  looks  desert  and 
rock-bound  from  the  distance,  will  unfold  itself,  when 
visited,  into  rare  valleys.  Nay,  in  any  case,  would  Criticism 
erect  not  only  finger-posts  and  turnpikes,  but  spiked  gates 
and  impassable  barriers,  for  the  mind  of  man  ? It  is 


4 


SARTOR  RESARTUS 


[BOOK  I. 

written,  ‘ Many  shall  ran  to  and  fro,  and  knowledge  shall 
be  increased.’  Surely  the  plain  rale  is,  Let  each  considerate 
person  have  his  way,  and  see  what  it  will  lead  to.  For  not 
this  man  and  that  man,  but  all  men  make  up  mankind,  and 
their  united  tasks  the  task  of  mankind.  How  often  have 
we  seen  some  such  adventurous,  and  perhaps  much-censured 
wanderer  light  on  some  out-lying,  neglected,  yet  vitally 
momentous  province ; the  hidden  treasures  of  which  he  first 
discovered,  and  kept  proclaiming  till  the  general  eye  and 
effort  were  directed  thither,  and  the  conquest  was  completed ; 
— thereby,  in  these  his  seemingly  so  aimless  rambles,  planting 
new  standards,  founding  new  habitable  colonies,  in  the  immea- 
surable circumambient  realm  of  Nothingness  and  Night ! 
Wise  man  was  he  who  counselled  that  Speculation  should 
have  free  course,  and  look  fearlessly  towards  all  the  thirty-two 
points  of  the  compass,  whithersoever  and  howsoever  it  listed. 

Perhaps  it  is  proof  of  the  stunted  condition  in  which  pure 
Science,  especially  pure  moral  Science,  languishes  among  us 
English ; and  how  our  mercantile  greatness,  and  invaluable 
Constitution,  impressing  a political  or  other  immediately 
practical  tendency  on  all  English  culture  and  endeavour, 
cramps  the  free  flight  of  Thought, — that  this,  not  Philo- 
sophy of  Clothes,  but  recognition  even  that  we  have  no  such 
Philosophy,  stands  here  for  the  first  time  published  in  our 
language.  What  English  intellect  could  have  chosen  such 
a topic,  or  by  chance  stumbled  on  it  ? But  for  that  same 
unshackled,  and  even  sequestered  condition  of  the  German 
Learned,  which  permits  and  induces  them  to  fish  in  all 
manner  of  waters,  with  all  manner  of  nets,  it  seems  probable 
enough,  this  abstruse  Inquiry  might,  in  spite  of  the  results 
it  leads  to,  have  continued  dormant  for  indefinite  periods. 
The  Editor  of  these  sheets,  though  otherwise  boasting  himself 
a man  of  confirmed  speculative  habits,  and  perhaps  discursive 
enough,  is  free  to  confess,  that  never,  till  these  last  months, 
did  the  above  very  plain  considerations,  on  our  total  want  of 


PRELIMINARY 


5 


CHAP.  I.] 

a Philosophy  of  Clothes,  occur  to  him ; and  then,  by  quite 
foreign  suggestion.  By  the  arrival,  namely,  of  a new  Book 
from  Professor  Teufelsdrockh  of  Weissnichtwo  ; treating 
expressly  of  this  subject,  and  in  a style  which,  whether  under- 
stood or  not,  could  not  even  by  the  blindest  be  overlooked. 
In  the  present  Editor’s  way  of  thought,  this  remarkable 
Treatise,  with  its  Doctrines,  whether  as  judicially  acceded  to, 
or  judicially  denied,  has  not  remained  without  effect. 

‘ Die  Kleider,  ihr  Werden  und  WirJcen  (Clothes,  their 
Origin  and  Influence) : von  Diog.  Teufelsdrockh,  J.  U.D.  etc. 
Stillschweigen  und  Cog'ne.  Weissnichtwo,  1831. 

‘ Here,’  says  the  Weissnichtwo' 'sche  Anzeiger,  ‘ comes  a 
Volume  of  that  extensive,  close-printed,  close-meditated  sort, 
which,  be  it  spoken  with  pride,  is  seen  only  in  Germany, 
perhaps  only  in  Weissnichtwo.  Issuing  from  the  hitherto 
irreproachable  Firm  of  Stillschweigen  and  Company,  with 
every  external  furtherance,  it  is  of  such  internal  quality  as  to 
set  Neglect  at  defiance.’  * * * * ‘ A work,’  concludes  the 
well-nigh  enthusiastic  Reviewer,  ‘ interesting  alike  to  the 
antiquary,  the  historian,  and  the  philosophic  thinker ; a 
masterpiece  of  boldness,  lynx-eyed  acuteness,  and  rugged  inde- 
pendent Germanism  and  Philanthropy  ( derher  Kerndeutscliheit 
und  Menschenliebe ) ; which  will  not,  assuredly,  pass  current 
without  opposition  in  high  places ; but  must  and  will  exalt 
the  almost  new  name  of  Teufelsdrockh  to  the  first  ranks  of 
Philosophy,  in  our  German  Temple  of  Honour.’ 

Mindful  of  old  friendship,  the  distinguished  Professor,  in 
this  the  first  blaze  of  his  fame,  which  however  does  not  dazzle 
him,  sends  hither  a Presentation-copy  of  his  Book ; with  com- 
pliments and  encomiums  which  modesty  forbids  the  present 
Editor  to  rehearse ; yet  without  indicated  wish  or  hope  of 
any  kind,  except  what  may  be  implied  in  the  concluding 
phrase : Mochte  es  (this  remarkable  Treatise)  auch  im  Brit- 
tischen  Boden  gedeihen ! 


6 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  I. 


CHAPTER  II 
EDITORIAL  DIFFICULTIES 

How  to  make  known  Teufelsdrockk  and  his  Book  to  English  readers ; 
especially  such  a book  ? Editor  receives  from  the  Hofrath  Heuschrecke  a 
letter  promising  Biographic  Documents.  Negotiations  with  Oliver  Yorke. 
Sartor  Resartus  conceived.  Editor’s  assurances  and  advice  to  his  British 
reader. 

If  for  a speculative  man,  4 whose  seedfield,1  in  the  sublime 
words  of  the  Poet,  4 is  Time,’  no  conquest  is  important  but  that 
of  new  ideas,  then  might  the  arrival  of  Professor  Teufelsdrockh’s 
Book  be  marked  with  chalk  in  the  Editor’s  calendar.  It  is 
indeed  an  4 extensive  Volume,1  of  boundless,  almost  formless 
contents,  a very  Sea  of  Thought ; neither  calm  nor  clear,  if 
you  will ; yet  wherein  the  toughest  pearl-diver  may  dive  to 
his  utmost  depth,  and  return  not  only  with  sea- wreck  but  with 
true  orients. 

Directly  on  the  first  perusal,  almost  on  the  first  deliberate 
inspection,  it  became  apparent  that  here  a quite  new  Branch 
of  Philosophy,  leading  to  as  yet  undescried  ulterior  results, 
was  disclosed ; farther,  what  seemed  scarcely  less  interesting, 
a quite  new  human  Individuality,  an  almost  unexampled 
personal  character,  that,  namely,  of  Professor  Teufelsdrockh 
the  Discloser.  Of  both  which  novelties,  as  far  as  might  be 
possible,  we  resolved  to  master  the  significance.  But  as  man 
is  emphatically  a proselytising  creature,  no  sooner  was  such 
mastery  even  fairly  attempted,  than  the  new  question  arose  : 
How  might  this  acquired  good  be  imparted  to  others,  perhaps 
in  equal  need  thereof : how  could  the  philosophy  of  Clothes, 
and  the  Author  of  such  Philosophy,  be  brought  home,  in  any 
measure,  to  the  business  and  bosoms  of  our  own  English 
Nation  ? Por  if  new-got  gold  is  said  to  burn  the  pockets  till 
it  be  cast  forth  into  circulation,  much  more  may  new  truth. 

Here,  however,  difficulties  occurred.  The  first  thought 
naturally  was  to  publish  Article  after  Article  on  this  remark- 


7 


chap,  ii.]  EDITORIAL  DIFFICULTIES 

able  Volume,  in  such  widely-circulating  Critical  Journals  as 
the  Editor  might  stand  connected  with,  or  by  money  or  love 
procure  access  to.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  was  it  not  clear 
that  such  matter  as  must  here  be  revealed,  and  treated  of, 
might  endanger  the  circulation  of  any  Journal  extant  ? If, 
indeed,  all  party-divisions  in  the  State,  could  have  been 
abolished,  Whig,  Tory,  and  Radical,  embracing  in  discrepant 
union  ; and  all  the  Journals  of  the  Nation  could  have  been 
jumbled  into  one  Journal,  and  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes 
poured  forth  in  incessant  torrents  therefrom,  the  attempt  had 
seemed  possible.  But,  alas,  what  vehicle  of  that  sort  have  we, 
except  Fraser's  Magazine  ? A vehicle  all  strewed  (figuratively 
speaking)  with  the  maddest  Waterloo-Crackers,  exploding 
distractively  and  destructively,  wheresoever  the  mystified 
passenger  stands  or  sits ; nay,  in  any  case,  understood  to  be, 
of  late  years,  a vehicle  full  to  overflowing,  and  inexorably 
shut ! Besides,  to  state  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes  without 
the  Philosopher,  the  ideas  of  Teufelsdrockh  without  something 
of  his  personality,  was  it  not  to  insure  both  of  entire  misap- 
prehension ? Now  for  Biography,  had  it  been  otherwise 
admissible,  there  were  no  adequate  documents,  no  hope  of 
obtaining  such,  but  rather,  owing  to  circumstances,  a special 
despair.  Thus  did  the  Editor  see  himself,  for  the  while,  shut 
out  from  all  public  utterance  of  these  extraordinary  Doctrines, 
and  constrained  to  revolve  them,  not  without  disquietude,  in 
the  dark  depths  of  his  own  mind. 

So  had  it  lasted  for  some  months  ; and  now  the  Volume  on 
Clothes,  read  and  again  read,  was  in  several  points  becoming 
lucid  and  lucent ; the  personality  of  its  Author  more  and 
more  surprising,  but,  in  spite  of  all  that  memory  and  conjec- 
ture could  do,  more  and  more  enigmatic;  whereby  the  old 
disquietude  seemed  fast  settling  into  fixed  discontent, — when 
altogether  unexpectedly  arrives  a Letter  from  Herr  Hofrath 
Heuschrecke,  our  Professor’s  chief  friend  and  associate  in 
Weissnichtwo,  with  whom  we  had  not  previously  corresponded. 
The  Hofrath,  after  much  quite  extraneous  matter,  began 


8 SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  I. 

dilating  largely  on  the  ‘ agitation  and  attention’  which  the 
Philosophy  of  Clothes  was  exciting  in  its  own  German 
Republic  of  Letters ; on  the  deep  significance  and  tendency 
of  his  Friend’s  Volume ; and  then,  at  length,  with  great  cir- 
cumlocution, hinted  at  the  practicability  of  conveying  c some 
knowledge  of  it,  and  of  him,  to  England,  and  through 
England  to  the  distant  West’  : a work  on  Professor  Teu- 
felsdrockh  c were  undoubtedly  welcome  to  the  Family , the 
National , or  any  other  of  those  patriotic  Libraries,  at  present 
the  glory  of  British  Literature  ’ ; might  work  revolutions  in 
Thought ; and  so  forth ; — in  conclusion,  intimating  not 
obscurely,  that  should  the  present  Editor  feel  disposed  to 
undertake  a Biography  of  Teufelsdrockh,  he,  ILofrath  Heusch- 
recke,  had  it  in  his  power  to  furnish  the  requisite  Documents. 

As  in  some  chemical  mixture,  that  has  stood  long  evapor- 
ating, but  would  not  crystallise,  instantly  when  the  wire  or 
other  fixed  substance  is  introduced,  crystallisation  commences, 
and  rapidly  proceeds  till  the  whole  is  finished,  so  was  it  with 
the  Editor’s  mind  and  this  offer  of  Heuschrecke’s.  Form  rose 
out  of  void  solution  and  discontinuity ; like  united  itself  with 
like  in  definite  arrangment : and  soon  either  in  actual  vision 
and  possession,  or  in  fixed  reasonable  hope,  the  image  of  the 
whole  Enterprise  had  shaped  itself,  so  to  speak,  into  a solid 
mass.  Cautiously  yet  courageously,  through  the  twopenny 
post,  application  to  the  famed  redoubtable  Oliver  Yorke  was 
now  made : an  interview,  interviews  with  that  singular  man 
have  taken  place ; with  more  of  assurance  on  our  side,  with 
less  of  satire  (at  least  of  open  satire)  on  his,  than  we  antici- 
pated ; — for  the  rest,  with  such  issue  as  is  now  visible.  As 
to  those  same  4 patriotic  Libraries ,’  the  Llofrath’s  counsel 
could  only  be  viewed  with  silent  amazement ; but  with  his 
offer  of  Documents  we  joyfully  and  almost  instantaneously 
closed.  Thus,  too,  in  the  sure  expectation  of  these,  we 
already  see  our  task  begun ; and  this  our  Sartor  Resartus, 
which  is  properly  a 4 Life  and  Opinions  of  Herr  Teufels- 
drockh,’ hourly  advancing. 


CHAP.IL]  EDITORIAL  DIFFICULTIES  9 

Of  our  fitness  for  the  Enterprise,  to  which  we  have  such 
title  and  vocation,  it  were  perhaps  uninteresting  to  say  more. 
Let  the  British  reader  study  and  enjoy,  in  simplicity  of  heart, 
what  is  here  presented  him,  and  with  whatever  metaphysical 
acumen  and  talent  for  meditation  he  is  possessed  of.  Let 
him  strive  to  keep  a free,  open  sense ; cleared  from  the  mists 
of  prejudice,  above  all  from  the  paralysis  of  cant ; and 
directed  rather  to  the  Book  itself  than  to  the  Editor  of  the 
Book.  Who  or  what  such  Editor  may  be,  must  remain 
conjectural,  and  even  insignificant  :x  it  is  a voice  publishing 
tidings  of  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes ; undoubtedly  a Spirit 
addressing  Spirits  : whoso  hath  ears,  let  him  hear. 

On  one  other  point  the  Editor  thinks  it  needful  to  give 
warning : namely,  that  he  is  animated  with  a true  though 
perhaps  a feeble  attachment  to  the  Institutions  of  our 
Ancestors ; and  minded  to  defend  these,  according  to  ability, 
at  all  hazards ; nay,  it  was  partly  with  a view  to  such 
defence  that  he  engaged  in  this  undertaking.  To  stem,  or  if 
that  be  impossible,  profitably  to  divert  the  current  of 
Innovation,  such  a Volume  as  Teufelsdrockh’s,  if  cunningly 
planted  down,  were  no  despicable  pile,  or  floodgate,  in  the 
logical  wear. 

For  the  rest,  be  it  nowise  apprehended,  that  any  personal 
connexion  of  ours  with  Teufelsdrockh,  Heuschrecke,  or  this 
Philosophy  of  Clothes,  can  pervert  our  judgment,  or  sway  us 
to  extenuate  or  exaggerate.  Powerless,  we  venture  to  pro- 
mise, are  those  private  Compliments  themselves.  Grateful 
they  may  well  be ; as  generous  illusions  of  friendship  ; as  fan1 
mementos  of  bygone  unions,  of  those  nights  and  suppers  of  the 
gods,  when,  lapped  in  the  symphonies  and  harmonies  of  Philo- 
sophic Eloquence,  though  with  baser  accompaniments,  the 
present  Editor  revelled  in  that  feast  of  reason,  never  since 
vouchsafed  him  in  so  full  measure  ! But  what  then  ? Amicus 
Plato , magis  arnica  veritas ; Teufelsdrockh  is  our  friend,  Truth 

1 With  us  even  he  still  communicates  in  some  sort  of  mask,  or  muffler ; 
and,  we  have  reason  to  think,  under  a feigned  name  ! — O.Y  . 


10 


SARTOR  RESARTUS 


[BOOK  I. 

is  our  divinity.  In  our  historical  and  critical  capacity,  we 
hope  we  are  strangers  to  all  the  world  ; have  feud  or  favour 
with  no  one, — save  indeed  the  Devil,  with  whom,  as  with  the 
Prince  of  Lies  and  Darkness,  we  do  at  all  times  wage  inter- 
necine war.  This  assurance,  at  an  epoch  when  puffery  and 
quackery  have  reached  a height  unexampled  in  the  annals  of 
mankind,  and  even  English  Editors,  like  Chinese  Shopkeepers, 
must  write  on  their  door-lintels  No  cheating  here, — we 
thought  it  good  to  premise. 


CHAPTER  III 
REMINISCENCES 

Teufelsdrockh  at  Weissnichtwo.  Professor  of  Things  in  General  at  the 
University  there  : Outward  aspect  and  character ; memorable  coifee-house 
utterances  ; domicile  and  watch-tower : Sights  thence  of  City-Life  by  day 
and  by  night ; with  reflections  thereon.  Old  ’Liza  and  her  ways. 
Character  of  Hofrath  Heuschrecke,  and  his  relation  to  Teufelsdrockh. 

To  the  Author’s  private  circle  the  appearance  of  this  sin- 
gular Work  on  Clothes  must  have  occasioned  little  less  sur- 
prise than  it  has  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  For  ourselves, 
at  least,  few  things  have  been  more  unexpected.  Professor 
Teufelsdrockh,  at  the  period  of  our  acquaintance  with  him, 
seemed  to  lead  a quite  still  and  self-contained  life  : a man 
devoted  to  the  higher  Philosophies,  indeed ; yet  more  likely, 
if  he  published  at  all,  to  publish  a refutation  of  Hegel  and 
Bardili,  both  of  whom,  strangely  enough,  he  included  under  a 
common  ban ; than  to  descend,  as  he  has  here  done,  into  the 
angry  noisy  Forum,  with  an  Argument  that  cannot  but 
exasperate  and  divide.  Not,  that  we  can  remember,  was  the 
Philosophy  of  Clothes  once  touched  upon  between  us.  If 
through  the  high,  silent,  meditative  Transcendentalism  of  our 
Friend  we  detected  any  practical  tendency  whatever,  it  was  at 
most  Political,  and  towards  a certain  prospective,  and  for  the 
present  quite  speculative,  Radicalism ; as  indeed  some  corres- 


REMINISCENCES 


11 


CHAP.  III.] 


pondence,  on  his  part,  with  Herr  Oken  of  Jena  was  now  and 
then  suspected ; though  his  special  contributions  to  the  Isis 
could  never  be  more  than  surmised  at.  But,  at  all  events, 
nothing  Moral,  still  less  anything  Didactico-Religious,  was 
looked  for  from  him. 

Well  do  we  recollect  the  last  words  he  spoke  in  our 
hearing ; which  indeed,  with  the  Night  they  were  uttered  in, 
are  to  be  forever  remembered.  Lifting  Iris  huge  tumbler  of 
GukguJi,1  and  for  a moment  lowering  his  tobacco-pipe,  he 
stood  up  in  full  coffeehouse  (it  was  Zur  Griinen  Gans,  the 
largest  in  Weissnichtwo,  where  all  the  Virtuosity,  and  nearly 
all  the  Intellect  of  the  place  assembled  of  an  evening) ; and 
there,  with  low,  soul-stirring  tone,  and  the  look  truly  of  an 
angel,  though  whether  of  a white  or  of  a black  one  might  be 
dubious,  proposed  this  toast : Die  Sache  der  Armen  m Gottes 
und  Tevfels  Namen  (The  Cause  of  the  Poor,  in  Heaven’s  name 

and ’s)  ! One  full  shout,  breaking  the  leaden  silence  ; then 

a gurgle  of  innumerable  emptying  bumpers,  again  followed 
by  universal  cheering,  returned  him  loud  acclaim.  It  was 
the  finale  of  the  night  : resuming  their  pipes ; in  the 
highest  enthusiasm,  amid  volumes  of  tobacco-smoke ; trium- 
phant, cloud-capt  without  and  within,  the  assembly  broke 
up,  each  to  his  thoughtful  pillow.  Bleibt  dock  ein  ecliter 
Spass-  und  Galgen-vogel,  said  several ; meaning  thereby  that, 
one  day,  he  would  probably  be  hanged  for  his  democratic 
sentiments.  Wo  steclet  dock  der  SchalJc  ? added  they,  looking 
round  : but  Teufelsdrockh  had  retired  by  private  alleys,  and 
the  Compiler  of  these  pages  beheld  him  no  more. 

In  such  scenes  has  it  been  our  lot  to  live  with  this  Philo- 
sopher, such  estimate  to  form  of  his  purposes  and  powers.  And 
yet,  thou  brave  Teufelsdrockh,  who  could  tell  what  lurked  in 
thee  ? Under  those  thick  locks  of  thine,  so  long  and  lank, 
overlapping  roof-wise  the  gravest  face  we  ever  in  this  world 
saw,  there  dwelt  a most  busy  brain.  In  thy  eyes  too,  deep 
under  their  shaggy  brows,  and  looking  out  so  still  and  dreamy, 

1 Gukguk  is  unhappily  only  an  academical — beer. 


12  SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

have  we  not  noticed  gleams  of  an  ethereal  or  else  a diabolic 
fire,  and  half-fancied  that  their  stillness  was  but  the  rest  of 
infinite  motion,  the  sleep  of  a spinning-top  P Thy  little 
figure,  there  as,  in  loose  ill-brushed  threadbare  habiliments, 
thou  sattest,  amid  litter  and  lumber,  whole  days,  to  ‘think 
and  smoke  tobacco,’  held  in  it  a mighty  heart.  The  secrets 
of  man’s  Life  were  laid  open  to  thee ; thou  sawest  into  the 
mystery  of  the  Universe,  farther  than  another  ; thou  hadst  in 
petto  thy  remarkable  Volume  on  Clothes.  Nay,  was  there 
not  in  that  clear  logically-founded  Transcendentalism  of  thine; 
still  more,  in  thy  meek,  silent,  deep-seated  Sansculottism, 
combined  with  a true  princely  Courtesy  of  inward  nature, 
the  visible  rudiments  of  such  speculation  ? But  great  men 
are  too  often  unknown,  or  what  is  worse,  misknown.  Already, 
when  we  dreamed  not  of  it,  the  warp  of  thy  remarkable 
Volume  lay  on  the  loom ; and  silently,  mysterious  shuttles 
were  putting-in  the  woof ! 

How  the  Hofrath  Heuschrecke  is  to  furnish  biographical 
data,  in  this  case,  may  be  a curious  question ; the  answer  of 
which,  however,  is  happily  not  our  concern,  but  his.  To  us 
it  appeared,  after  repeated  trial,  that  in  Weissnichtwo,  from 
the  archives  or  memories  of  the  best-informed  classes,  no 
Biography  of  Teufelsdrockh  was  to  be  gathered ; not  so  much 
as  a false  one.  He  was  a stranger  there,  wafted  thither  by 
what  is  called  the  course  of  circumstances ; concerning  whose 
parentage,  birthplace,  prospects,  or  pursuits,  curiosity  had 
indeed  made  inquiries,  but  satisfied  herself  with  the  most 
indistinct  replies.  For  himself,  he  was  a man  so  still  and 
altogether  unparticipating,  that  to  question  him  even  afar  off 
on  such  particulars  was  a thing  of  more  than  usual  delicacy : 
besides,  in  his  sly  way,  he  had  ever  some  quaint  turn,  not 
without  its  satirical  edge,  wherewith  to  divert  such  intrusions, 
and  deter  you  from  the  like.  Wits  spoke  of  him  secretly  as 
if  he  were  a kind  of  Melchizedek,  without  father  or  mother  of 
any  kind ; sometimes,  with  reference  to  his  great  historic  and 


REMINISCENCES 


13 


CHAP.  III.] 

statistic  knowledge,  and  the  vivid  way  he  had  of  expressing 
himself  like  an  eye-witness  of  distant  transactions  and  scenes, 
they  called  him  the  Emge  Jude , Everlasting,  or  as  we  say, 
Wandering  Jew. 

To  the  most,  indeed,  he  had  become  not  so  much  a Man 
as  a Thing ; which  Thing  doubtless  they  were  accustomed  to 
see,  and  with  satisfaction ; but  no  more  thought  of  account- 
ing for  than  for  the  fabrication  of  their  daily  Allgemeine 
Zeitung,  or  the  domestic  habits  of  the  Sun.  Both  were  there 
and  welcome ; the  world  enjoyed  what  good  was  in  them, 
and  thought  no  more  of  the  matter.  The  man  Teufels- 
drockh  passed  and  repassed,  in  his  little  circle,  as  one  of 
those  originals  and  nondescripts,  more  frequent  in  German 
Universities  than  elsewhere ; of  whom,  though  you  see  them 
alive,  and  feel  certain  enough  that  they  must  have  a History, 
no  History  seems  to  be  discoverable ; or  only  such  as  men 
give  of  mountain  rocks  and  antediluvian  ruins : That  they 
have  been  created  by  unknown  agencies,  are  in  a state  of 
gradual  decay,  and  for  the  present  reflect  light  and  resist 
pressure ; that  is,  are  visible  and  tangible  objects  in  this 
phantasm  world,  where  so  much  other  mystery  is. 

It  was  to  be  remarked  that  though,  by  title  and  diploma, 
Professor  der  Allerley-Wissenschaft,  or  as  we  should  say  in 
English,  4 Professor  of  Things  in  General,1  he  had  never  deliv- 
ered any  Course ; perhaps  never  been  incited  thereto  by  any 
public  furtherance  or  requisition.  To  all  appearance,  the 
enlightened  Government  of  Weissnichtwo,  in  founding  their 
New  University,  imagined  they  had  done  enough,  if  4 in  times 
like  ours,1  as  the  half-official  Program  expressed  it,  4 when  all 
things  are,  rapidly  or  slowly,  resolving  themselves  into  Chaos, 
a Professorship  of  this  kind  had  been  established ; whereby, 
as  occasion  called,  the  task  of  bodying  somewhat  forth  again 
from  such  Chaos  might  be,  even  slightly,  facilitated.1  That 
actual  Lectures  should  be  held,  and  Public  Classes  for  the 
4 Science  of  Things  in  General,1  they  doubtless  considered 
premature ; on  which  ground  too  they  had  only  established 


14 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  I. 

the  Professorship,  nowise  endowed  it ; so  that  Teufelsdrockh, 
‘ recommended  by  the  highest  Names,’  had  been  promoted 
thereby  to  a Name  merely. 

Great,  among  the  more  enlightened  classes,  was  the  admira- 
tion of  this  new  Professorship  : how  an  enlightened  Govern- 
ment had  seen  into  the  Want  of  the  Age  ( Zeitbediirfniss ) ; 
how  at  length,  instead  of  Denial  and  Destruction,  we  were 
to  have  a science  of  Affirmation  and  Reconstruction ; and 
Germany  and  Weissnichtwo  were  where  they  should  be,  in  the 
vanguard  of  the  world.  Considerable  also  was  the  wonder  at 
the  new  Professor,  dropt  opportunely  enough  into  the  nascent 
University ; so  able  to  lecture,  should  occasion  call ; so  ready 
to  hold  his  peace  for  indefinite  periods,  should  an  enlightened 
Government  consider  that  occasion  did  not  call.  But  such 
admiration  and  such  wonder,  being  followed  by  no  act  to 
keep  them  living,  could  last  only  nine  days ; and,  long  before 
our  visit  to  that  scene,  had  quite  died  away.  The  more 
cunning  heads  thought  it  was  all  an  expiring  clutch  at  popu- 
larity, on  the  part  of  a Minister,  whom  domestic  embarrass- 
ments, court  intrigues,  old  age,  and  dropsy  soon  afterwards 
finally  drove  from  the  helm. 

As  for  Teufelsdrockh,  except  by  his  nightly  appearances  at 
the  Grune  Gam , Weissnichtwo  saw  little  of  him,  felt  little  of 
him.  Here,  over  his  tumbler  of  Gukguk,  he  sat  reading 
Journals;  sometimes  contemplatively  looking  into  the  clouds 
of  his  tobacco-pipe,  without  other  visible  employment : always, 
from  his  mild  ways,  an  agreeable  phenomenon  there ; more 
especially  when  he  opened  his  lips  for  speech ; on  which  occa- 
sions the  whole  Coffee-house  would  hush  itself  into  silence,  as 
if  sure  to  hear  something  noteworthy.  Nay,  perhaps  to  hear 
a whole  series  and  river  of  the  most  memorable  utterances ; 
such  as,  when  once  thawed,  he  would  for  hours  indulge  in, 
with  fit  audience : and  the  more  memorable,  as  issuing  from 
a head  apparently  not  more  interested  in  them,  not  more 
conscious  of  them,  than  is  the  sculptured  stone  head  of  some 
public  fountain,  which  through  its  brass  mouth-tube  emits 


REMINISCENCES 


15 


CHAP.  III.] 

water  to  the  worthy  and  the  unworthy ; careless  whether  it 
be  for  cooking  victuals  or  quenching  conflagrations ; indeed, 
maintains  the  same  earnest  assiduous  look,  whether  any  water 
be  flowing  or  not. 

To  the  Editor  of  these  sheets,  as  to  a young  enthusiastic 
Englishman,  however  unworthy,  Teufelsdrockh  opened  himself 
perhaps  more  than  to  the  most.  Pity  only  that  we  could  not 
then  half  guess  his  importance,  and  scrutinise  him  with  due 
power  of  vision  ! We  enjoyed,  what  not  three  men  in  Weiss- 
nichtwo  could  boast  of,  a certain  degree  of  access  to  the  Pro- 
fessor’s private  domicile.  It  was  the  attic  floor  of  the  highest 
house  in  the  Wahngasse  ; and  might  truly  be  called  the 
pinnacle  of  Weissnichtwo,  for  it  rose  sheer  up  above  the 
contiguous  roofs,  themselves  rising  from  elevated  ground. 
Moreover,  with  its  windows  it  looked  towards  all  the  four 
Orte,  or  as  the  Scotch  say,  and  we  ought  to  say,  Airts : the 
sitting-room  itself  commanded  three ; another  came  to  view 
in  the  Schlafgemach  (bed-room)  at  the  opposite  end ; to  say 
nothing  of  the  kitchen,  which  offered  two,  as  it  were,  duplicates, 
and  showing  nothing  new.  So  that  it  was  in  fact  the  specu- 
lum or  watch-tower  of  Teufelsdrockh ; wherefrom,  sitting  at 
ease,  he  might  see  the  whole  life-circulation  of  that  con- 
siderable City ; the  streets  and  lanes  of  which,  with  all  their 
doing  and  driving  ( Thun  und  Treiben),  were  for  the  most  part 
visible  there. 

‘ I look  down  into  all  that  wasp-nest  or  bee-hive,’  have  we 
heard  him  say,  ‘ and  witness  their  wax-laying  and  honey- 
making, and  poison-brewing,  and  choking  by  sulphur.  From 
the  Palace  esplanade,  where  music  plays  while  Serene  Highness 
is  pleased  to  eat  his  victuals,  down  to  the  low  lane,  where  in 
her  door-sill  the  aged  widow,  knitting  for  a thin  livelihood, 
sits  to  feel  the  afternoon  sun,  I see  it  all ; for,  except  the 
Schlosskirche  weathercock,  no  biped  stands  so  high.  Couriers 
arrive  bestrapped  and  bebooted,  bearing  Joy  and  Sorrow 
bagged-up  in  pouches  of  leather  ; there,  topladen,  and  with 
four  swift  horses,  rolls-in  the  country  Baron  and  his  house- 


16  SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

hold ; here,  on  timber-leg,  the  lamed  Soldier  hops  painfully 
along,  begging  alms  : a thousand  carnages,  and  wains,  and 
cars,  come  tumbling-in  with  Food,  with  young  Rusticity,  and 
other  Raw  Produce,  inanimate  or  animate,  and  go  tumbling 
out  again  with  Produce  manufactured.  That  living  flood, 
pouring  through  these  streets,  of  all  qualities  and  ages,  knowest 
thou  whence  it  is  coming,  whither  it  is  going  ? A us  der 
Ewigleeit,  zu  der  Ewigkeit  kin : From  Eternity,  onwards  to 
Eternity  ! These  are  Apparitions  : what  else  ? Are  they 
not  Souls  rendered  visible  : in  Bodies,  that  took  shape  and 
will  lose  it,  melting  into  ah’  ? Their  solid  Pavement  is  a 
Picture  of  the  Sense ; they  walk  on  the  bosom  of  Nothing, 
blank  Time  is  behind  them  and  before  them.  Or  fanciest 
thou,  the  red  and  yellow  Clothes-screen  yonder,  with  spurs  on 
its  heels  and  feather  in  its  crown,  is  but  of  Today,  without  a 
Yesterday  or  a Tomorrow ; and  had  not  rather  its  Ancestor 
alive  when  Hengst  and  Horsa  overran  thy  Island  ? Friend, 
thou  seest  here  a living  link  in  that  Tissue  of  History,  which 
inweaves  all  Being : watch  well,  or  it  will  be  past  thee,  and 
seen  no  more. 

‘ Ach,  mein  Lieber ! 1 said  he  once,  at  midnight,  when  we 
had  returned  from  the  Coffee-house  in  rather  earnest  talk,  4 it 
is  a true  sublimity  to  dwell  here.  These  fringes  of  lamplight, 
struggling  up  through  smoke  and  thousandfold  exhalation, 
some  fathoms  into  the  ancient  reign  of  Night,  what  thinks 
Bootes  of  them,  as  he  leads  his  Hunting-dogs  over  the  Zenith 
in  their  leash  of  sidereal  fire  ? That  stifled  hum  of  Midnight, 
when  Traffic  has  lain  down  to  rest ; and  the  chariot- wheels  of 
Vanity,  still  rolling  here  and  there  through  distant  streets,  are 
bearing  her  to  Flails  roofed-in,  and  lighted  to  the  due  pitch 
for  her ; and  only  Vice  and  Misery,  to  prowl  or  to  moan  like 
nightbirds,  are  abroad : that  hum,  I say,  like  the  stertorous, 
unquiet  slumber  of  sick  Life,  is  heard  in  Fleaven  ! Oh,  under 
that  hideous  coverlet  of  vapours,  and  putrefactions,  and  un- 
imaginable gases,  what  a Fermenting-vat  lies  simmering  and 
hid  ! The  joyful  and  the  sorrowful  are  there  ; men  are  dying 


REMINISCENCES 


17 


CHAP.  III.] 

there,  men  are  being  born ; men  are  praying, — on  the  other 
side  of  a brick  partition,  men  are  cursing ; and  around  them 
all  is  the  vast,  void  Night.  The  proud  Grandee  still  lingers 
in  his  perfumed  saloons,  or  reposes  within  damask  curtains ; 
Wretchedness  cowers  into  truckle-beds,  or  shivers  hunger- 
stricken  into  its  lair  of  straw : in  obscure  cellars,  Rouge-et - 
Noir  languidly  emits  its  voice-of-destiny  to  haggard  hungry 
Villains ; while  Councillors  of  State  sit  plotting,  and  playing 
their  high  chess-game,  whereof  the  pawns  are  Men.  The 
Lover  whispers  his  mistress  that  the  coach  is  ready ; and  she, 
full  of  hope  and  fear,  glides  down,  to  fly  with  him  over  the 
borders  : the  Thief,  still  more  silently,  sets-to  his  picklocks 
and  crowbars,  or  lurks  in  wait  till  the  watchmen  first  snore  in 
their  boxes.  Gay  mansions,  with  supper-rooms,  and  dancing- 
rooms,  are  full  of  light  and  music  and  high-swelling  hearts  ; 
but,  in  the  Condemned  Cells,  the  pulse  of  life  beats  tremulous 
and  faint,  and  bloodshot  eyes  look-out  through  the  darkness, 
which  is  around  and  within,  for  the  light  of  a stern  last 
morning.  Six  men  are  to  be  hanged  on  the  morrow  : comes 
no  hammering  from  the  Rabenstein  ? — their  gallows  must  even 
now  be  o’  building.  Upwards  of  five-hundred-thousand  two- 
legged  animals  without  feathers  lie  round  us,  in  horizontal 
positions ; their  heads  all  in  nightcaps,  and  full  of  the  fool- 
ishest  dreams.  Riot  cries  aloud,  and  staggers  and  swaggers 
in  his  rank  dens  of  shame ; and  the  Mother,  with  streaming 
hair,  kneels  over  her  pallid  dying  infant,  whose  cracked  lips 
only  her  tears  now  moisten. — All  these  heaped  and  huddled 
together,  with  nothing  but  a little  carpentry  and  masonry  be- 
tween them  ; — crammed  in,  like  salted  fish  in  their  barrel ; — 
or  weltering,  shall  I say,  like  an  Egyptian  pitcher  of  tamed 
vipers,  each  struggling  to  get  its  head  above  the  others  : such 
work  goes  on  under  that  smoke-counterpane ! — But  I,  mein 
Werther,  sit  above  it  all ; I am  alone  with  the  Stars.’ 

We  looked  in  his  face  to  see  whether,  in  the  utterance  of 
such  extraordinary  Night-thoughts,  no  feeling  might  be  traced 
there ; but  with  the  light  we  had,  which  indeed  was  only  a 

B 


18 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  I. 

single  tallow-light,  and  far  enough  from  the  window,  nothing 
save  that  old  calmness  and  fixedness  was  visible. 

These  wei’e  the  Professor’s  talking  seasons : most  commonly 
he  spoke  in  mere  monosyllables,  or  sat  altogether  silent  and 
smoked ; while  the  visitor  had  liberty  either  to  say  what  he 
listed,  receiving  for  answer  an  occasional  grunt ; or  to  look 
round  for  a space,  and  then  take  himself  away.  It  was  a 
strange  apartment ; full  of  books  and  tattered  papers,  and 
miscellaneous  shreds  of  all  conceivable  substances,  ‘ united  in 
a common  element  of  dust.’  Books  lay  on  tables,  and  below 
tables  ; here  fluttered  a sheet  of  manuscript,  there  a torn  hand- 
kerchief, or  nightcap  hastily  thrown  aside ; ink-bottles  alter- 
nated with  bread-crusts,  coffee-pots,  tobacco-boxes,  Periodical 
Literature,  and  Bliicher  Boots.  Old  Lieschen  (Lisekin, 
’Liza),  who  was  his  bed-maker  and  stove-lighter,  his  washer 
and  winger,  cook,  errand-maid,  and  general  lion’s-provider, 
and  for  the  rest  a very  orderly  creature,  had  no  sovereign 
authority  in  this  last  citadel  of  Teufelsdrockh  ; only  some 
once  in  the  month  she  half-forcibly  made  her  way  thither, 
with  broom  and  duster,  and  (Teufelsdrockh  hastily  saving  his 
manuscripts)  effected  a partial  clearance,  a jail-delivery  of  such 
lumber  as  was  not  Literary.  These  were  her  Erdbeben  (earth- 
quakes), which  Teufelsdrockh  dreaded  worse  than  the  pesti- 
lence ; nevertheless,  to  such  length  he  had  been  forced  to 
comply.  Glad  would  he  have  been  to  sit  here  philosophising 
forever,  or  till  the  litter,  by  accumulation,  drove  him  out  of 
doors : but  Lieschen  was  his  right-arm,  and  spoon,  and  neces- 
sary of  life,  and  would  not  be  flatly  gainsayed.  We  can  still 
remember  the  ancient  woman ; so  silent  that  some  thought 
her  dumb  ; deaf  also  you  would  often  have  supposed  her ; for 
Teufelsdrockh,  and  Teufelsdrockh  only,  would  she  serve  or 
give  heed  to  ; and  with  him  she  seemed  to  communicate 
chiefly  by  signs ; if  it  were  not  rather  by  some  secret  divina- 
tion that  she  guessed  all  his  wants,  and  supplied  them. 
Assiduous  old  dame  ! she  scoured,  and  sorted,  and  swept,  in 
her  kitchen,  with  the  least  possible  violence  to  the  ear ; yet 


REMINISCENCES 


19 


CHAP.  III.] 

all  was  tight  and  right  there  : hot  and  black  came  the  coffee 
ever  at  the  due  moment ; and  the  speechless  Lieschen  herself 
looked  out  on  you,  from  under  her  clean  white  coif  with  its 
lappets,  through  her  clean  withered  face  and  wrinkles,  with  a 
look  of  helpful  intelligence,  almost  of  benevolence. 

Few  strangers,  as  above  hinted,  had  admittance  hither  : the 
only  one  we  ever  saw  there,  ourselves  excepted,  was  the 
Hofrath  Heuschrecke,  already  known,  by  name  and  expecta- 
tion, to  the  readers  of  these  pages.  To  us,  at  that  period, 
Herr  Heuschrecke  seemed  one  of  those  purse-mouthed,  crane- 
necked, clean-brushed,  pacific  individuals,  perhaps  sufficiently 
distinguished  in  society  by  this  fact,  that,  in  dry  weather  or  in 
wet,  4 they  never  appear  without  their  umbrella.’  Had  we 
not  known  with  what  ‘ little  wisdom’  the  world  is  governed  ; 
and  how,  in  Germany  as  elsewhere,  the  ninety-and-nine  Public 
Men  can  for  most  part  be  but  mute  train-bearers  to  the 
hundredth,  perhaps  but  stalking-horses  and  willing  or  unwill- 
ing dupes, — it  might  have  seemed  wonderful  how  Herr 
Heuschrecke  should  be  named  a Rath , or  Councillor,  and 
Counsellor,  even  in  Weissnichtwo.  What  counsel  to  any 
man,  or  to  any  woman,  could  this  particular  Hofrath  give ; 
in  whose  loose,  zigzag  figure ; in  whose  thin  visage,  as  it  went 
jerking  to  and  fro,  in  minute  incessant  fluctuation, — you 
traced  rather  confusion  worse  confounded ; at  most,  Timidity 
and  physical  Cold  ? Some  indeed  said  withal,  he  was  ‘ the 
very  Spirit  of  Love  embodied  ’ : blue  earnest  eyes,  full  of  sad- 
ness and  kindness ; purse  ever  open,  and  so  forth ; the  whole 
of  which,  we  shall  now  hope,  for  many  reasons,  was  not  quite 
groundless.  Nevertheless  friend  Teufelsdrockh’s  outline,  who 
indeed  handled  the  burin  like  few  in  these  cases,  was  probably 
the  best : Er  hat  Gemuth  und  Geist , hat  wenigstens  gehabt , 
doch  ohne  Organ , ohne  Schicltsals-Gunst ; ist  gegenwartig  aber 
haTb-zerruttet , halb-erstarrt,  ‘ He  has  heart  and  talent,  at  least 
has  had  such,  yet  without  fit  mode  of  utterance,  or  favour  of 
Fortune  ; and  so  is  now  half-cracked,  half-congealed.’ — What 
the  Hofrath  shall  think  of  this  when  he  sees  it,  readers  may 


20  SAliTOE  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

wonder : we,  safe  in  the  stronghold  of  Historical  Fidelity,  are 
careless. 

The  main  point,  doubtless,  for  us  all,  is  his  love  of  Teufels- 
drockh,  which  indeed  was  also  by  far  the  most  decisive  feature 
of  Heuschrecke  himself.  We  are  enabled  to  assert  that  he 
hung  on  the  Professor  with  the  fondness  of  a Boswell  for  his 
J ohnson.  And  perhaps  with  the  like  return ; for  Teufels- 
drockh  treated  his  gaunt  admirer  with  little  outward  regard, 
as  some  half-rational  or  altogether  irrational  friend,  and  at 
best  loved  him  out  of  gratitude  and  by  habit.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  was  curious  to  observe  with  what  reverent  kindness, 
and  a sort  of  fatherly  protection,  our  Hofrath,  being  the 
elder,  richer,  and  as  he  fondly  imagined  far  more  practically  in- 
fluential of  the  two,  looked  and  tended  on  his  little  Sage,  whom 
he  seemed  to  consider  as  a living  oracle.  Let  but  Teufels- 
drockh  open  his  mouth,  Heuschrecke’s  also  unpuckered  itself 
into  a free  doorway,  besides  his  being  all  eye  and  all  ear,  so 
that  nothing  might  be  lost : and  then,  at  every  pause  in  the 
harangue,  he  gurgled-out  his  pursy  chuckle  of  a cough-laugh 
(for  the  machinery  of  laughter  took  some  time  to  get  in 
motion,  and  seemed  crank  and  slack),  or  else  his  twanging  nasal, 
Bravo ! Das  glauV  ich  ; in  either  case,  by  way  of  heartiest 
approval.  In  short,  if  Teufelsdrockh  was  Dalai-Lama,  of 
which,  except  perhaps  in  his  self-seclusion,  and  godlike  indif- 
ference, there  was  no  symptom,  then  might  Heuschrecke 
pass  for  his  chief  Talapoin,  to  whom  no  dough-pill  he  could 
knead  and  publish  was  other  than  medicinal  and  sacred. 

In  such  environment,  social,  domestic,  physical,  did  Teufels- 
drockh, at  the  time  of  our  acquaintance,  and  most  likely  does 
he  still,  live  and  meditate.  Here,  perched-up  in  his  high 
Wahngasse  watch-tower,  and  often,  in  solitude,  outwatching 
the  Bear,  it  was  that  the  indomitable  Inquirer  fought  all  his 
battles  with  Dulness  and  Darkness ; here,  in  all  probability, 
that  he  wrote  this  surprising  Volume  on  Clothes.  Additional 
particulars  : of  his  age,  which  was  of  that  standing  middle 
sort  you  could  only  guess  at ; of  his  wide  surtout ; the  colour 


21 


CHAP.  IV.]  CHARACTERISTICS 

of  his  trousers,  fashion  of  his  broad-brimmed  steeple-hat,  and 
so  forth,  we  might  report,  but  do  not.  The  Wisest  truly  is, 
in  these  times,  the  Greatest ; so  that  an  enlightened  curiosity, 
leaving  Kings  and  suchlike  to  rest  very  much  on  their  own 
basis,  turns  more  and  more  to  the  Philosophic  Class  : never- 
theless, what  reader  expects  that,  with  all  our  writing  and 
reporting,  Teufelsdrockh  could  be  brought  home  to  him,  till 
once  the  Documents  arrive  ? His  Life,  Fortunes,  and  Bodily 
Presence,  are  as  yet  hidden  from  us,  or  matter  only  of  faint 
conjecture.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  does  not  his  Soul  lie  en- 
closed in  this  remarkable  Volume,  much  more  truly  than 
Pedro  Garcia’s  did  in  the  buried  Bag  of  Doubloons  ? To  the 
soul  of  Diogenes.  -Teufelsdrockh,  to  his  opinions,  namely,  on 
the  ‘ Origin  and  Influence  of  Clothes,’  we  for  the  present 
gladly  return. 


CHAPTER  IV 
CHARACTERISTICS 

Teufelsdrockh  and  his  Work  on  Clothes  : Strange  freedom  of  speech ; tran- 
scendentalism ; force  of  insight  and  expression ; multifarious  learning : 
Style  poetic,  uncouth : Comprehensiveness  of  his  humour  and  moral  feel- 
ing. How  the  Editor  once  saw  him  laugh.  Different  kinds  of  Laughter 
and  their  significance. 

It  were  a piece  of  vain  flattery  to  pretend  that  this  Work 
on  Clothes  entirely  contents  us ; that  it  is  not,  like  all  works 
of  genius,  like  the  very  Sun,  which,  though  the  highest  pub- 
lished creation,  or  work  of  genius,  has  nevertheless  black  spots 
and  troubled  nebulosities  amid  its  effulgence, — a mixture  of 
insight,  inspiration,  with  dulness,  double-vision,  and  even  utter 
blindness. 

Without  committing  ourselves  to  those  enthusiastic  praises 
and  prophesyings  of  the  Weissmchtwo sclie  Anzeiger,  we  ad- 
mitted that  the  Book  had  in  a high  degree  excited  us  to 
self-activity,  which  is  the  best  effect  of  any  book ; that  it  had 
even  operated  changes  in  our  way  of  thought ; nay,  that  it 


22 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I 

promised  to  prove,  as  it  were,  the  opening  of  a new  mine- 
shaft,  wherein  the  whole  world  of  Speculation  might  hence- 
forth dig  to  unknown  depths.  More  especially  it  may  now  be 
declared  that  Professor  Teufelsdrockh’s  acquirements,  patience 
of  research,  philosophic  and  even  poetic  vigour,  are  here  made 
indisputably  manifest ; and  unhappily  no  less  his  prolixity 
and  tortuosity  and  manifold  ineptitude ; that,  on  the  whole, 
as  in  opening  new  mine-shafts  is  not  unreasonable,  there  is 
much  rubbish  in  his  Book,  though  likewise  specimens  of 
almost  invaluable  ore.  A paramount  popularity  in  England 
we  cannot  promise  him.  Apart  from  the  choice  of  such  a 
topic  as  Clothes,  too  often  the  manner  of  treating  it  betokens  in 
the  Author  a rusticity  and  academic  seclusion,  unblamable, 
indeed  inevitable  in  a German,  but  fatal  to  his  success  with 
our  public. 

Of  good  society  Teufelsdrockh  appears  to  have  seen  little, 
or  has  mostly  forgotten  what  he  saw.  He  speaks-out  with  a 
strange  plainness  ; calls  many  things  by  their  mere  dictionary 
names.  To  him  the  Upholsterer  is  no  Pontiff,  neither  is  any 
Drawing-room  a Temple,  were  it  never  so  begilt  and  overhung  : 
4 a whole  immensity  of  Brussels  carpets,  and  pier-glasses,  and 
or-molu,1  as  he  himself  expresses  it,  4 cannot  hide  from  me  that 
such  Drawing-room  is  simply  a section  of  Infinite  Space,  where 
so  many  God-created  Souls  do  for  the  time  meet  together.1 
To  Teufelsdrockh  the  highest  Duchess  is  respectable,  is 
venerable ; but  nowise  for  her  pearl  bracelets  and  Malines 
laces : in  his  eyes,  the  star  of  a Lord  is  little  less  and  little 
more  than  the  broad  button  of  Birmingham  spelter  in  a 
Clown’s  smock ; 4 each  is  an  implement,1  he  says,  4 in  its  kind ; 
a tag  for  hooking-together ; and,  for  the  rest,  was  dug  from 
the  earth,  and  hammered  on  a stithy  before  smith’s  fingers.1 
Thus  does  the  Professor  look  in  men’s  faces  with  a strange 
impartiality,  a strange  scientific  freedom ; like  a man  unversed 
in  the  higher  circles,  like  a man  dropped  thither  from  the 
Moon.  Rightly  considered,  it  is  in  this  peculiarity,  running 
through  his  whole  system  of  thought,  that  all  these  short- 


23 


CHAP.  IV.]  CHARACTERISTICS 

comings,  over-shootings,  and  multiform  perversities,  take  rise  : 
if  indeed  they  have  not  a second  source,  also  natural  enough, 
in  his  Transcendental  Philosophies,  and  humour  of  looking  at 
all  Matter  and  Material  things  as  Spirit ; whereby  truly  his 
case  were  but  the  more  hopeless,  the  more  lamentable. 

To  the  Thinkers  of  this  nation,  however,  of  which  class  it 
is  firmly  believed  there  are  individuals  yet  extant,  we  can 
safely  recommend  the  Work  : nay,  who  knows  but  among 
the  fashionable  ranks  too,  if  it  be  true,  as  Teufelsdrockh 
maintains,  that  ‘ within  the  most  starched  cravat  there  passes 
a windpipe  and  weasand,  and  under  the  thickliest  embroidered 
waistcoat  beats  a heart,1 — the  force  of  that  rapt  earnestness 
may  be  felt,  and  here  and  there  an  arrow  of  the  soul  pierce 
through  ? In  our  wild  Seer,  shaggy,  unkempt,  like  a Baptist 
living  on  locusts  and  wild  honey,  there  is  an  untutored  energy, 
a silent,  as  it  were  unconscious,  strength,  which  except  in  the 
higher  walks  of  Literature,  must  be  rare.  Many  a deep  glance, 
and  often  with  unspeakable  precision,  has  he  cast  into 
mysterious  Nature,  and  the  still  more  mysterious  Life  of  Man. 
Wonderful  it  is  with  what  cutting  words,  now  and  then,  he 
severs  asunder  the  confusion ; shears  down,  were  it  furlongs 
deep,  into  the  true  centre  of  the  matter ; and  there  not  only 
hits  the  nail  on  the  head,  but  with  crushing  force  smites  it 
home,  and  buries  it. — On  the  other  hand,  let  us  be  free  to 
admit,  he  is  the  most  unequal  writer  breathing.  Often  after 
some  such  feat,  he  will  play  truant  for  long  pages,  and  go 
dawdling  and  dreaming,  and  mumbling  and  maundering  the 
merest  commonplaces,  as  if  he  were  asleep  with  eyes  open, 
which  indeed  he  is. 

Of  his  boundless  Learning,  and  how  all  reading  and 
literature  in  most  known  tongues,  from  Sanchoniathon  to  Dr. 
Lingard,  from  your  Oriental  Shasters , and  Talmuds,  and 
Kora/ns,  with  Cassini’s  Siamese  Tables,  and  Laplace’s  Mecanique 
Celeste,  down  to  Robinson  Crusoe  and  the  Belfast  Town  and 
Country  Almanack,  are  familiar  to  him, — we  shall  say  nothing: 
for  unexampled  as  it  is  with  us,  to  the  Germans  such 


SARTOR  RESARTUS 


[BOOK  I. 


universality  of  study  passes  without  wonder,  as  a thing 
commendable,  indeed,  but  natural,  indispensable,  and  there 
of  course.  A man  that  devotes  his  life  to  learning,  shall  he 
not  be  learned  ? 

In  respect  of  style  our  Author  manifests  the  same  genial 
capability,  marred  too  often  by  the  same  rudeness,  inequality, 
and  apparent  want  of  intercourse  with  the  higher  classes. 
Occasionally,  as  above  hinted,  we  find  consummate  vigour,  a 
true  inspiration ; his  burning  thoughts  step  forth  in  fit 
burning  words,  like  so  many  full-formed  Minervas,  issuing 
amid  flame  and  splendour  from  Jove’s  head ; a rich,  idiomatic 
diction,  picturesque  allusions,  fiery  poetic  emphasis,  or  quaint 
tricksy  turns  ; all  the  graces  and  terrors  of  a wild  Imagination, 
wedded  to  the  clearest  Intellect,  alternate  in  beautiful 
vicissitude.  Were  it  not  that  sheer  sleeping  and  soporific 
passages ; circumlocutions,  repetitions,  touches  even  of  pure 
doting  jargon,  so  often  intervene  ! On  the  whole,  Professor 
Teufelsdrockh  is  not  a cultivated  writer.  Of  his  sentences 
perhaps  not  more  than  nine-tenths  stand  straight  on  their 
legs ; the  remainder  are  in  quite  angular  attitudes,  buttressed- 
up  by  props  (of  parentheses  and  dashes),  and  ever  with  this 
or  the  other  tagrag  hanging  from  them ; a few  even  sprawl- 
out  helplessly  on  all  sides,  quite  bi’oken-backed  and  dismem- 
bered. Nevertheless,  in  almost  his  very  worst  moods,  there 
lies  in  him  a singular  attraction.  A wild  tone  pervades  the 
whole  utterance  of  the  man,  like  its  keynote  and  regulator ; 
now  screwing  itself  aloft  as  into  the  Song  of  Spirits,  or  else 
the  shrill  mockery  of  Fiends ; now  sinking  in  cadences,  not 
without  melodious  heartiness,  though  sometimes  abrupt 
enough,  into  the  common  pitch,  when  we  hear  it  only  as  a 
monotonous  hum ; of  which  hum  the  true  character  is 
extremely  difficult  to  fix.  Up  to  this  hour  we  have  never 
fully  satisfied  ourselves  whether  it  is  a tone  and  hum  of  real 
Humour,  which  we  reckon  among  the  very  highest  qualities  of 
genius,  or  some  echo  of  mere  Insanity  and  Inanity,  which 
doubtless  ranks  below  the  very  lowest. 


25 


CHAP.  IV.]  CHARACTERISTICS 

Under  a like  difficulty,  in  spite  even  of  our  personal  inter- 
course, do  we  still  lie  with  regard  to  the  Professor’s  moral 
feeling.  Gleams  of  an  ethereal  love  burst  forth  from  him,  soft 
wailings  of  infinite  pity ; he  could  clasp  the  whole  Universe 
into  his  bosom,  and  keep  it  warm ; it  seems  as  if  under  that 
rude  exterior  there  dwelt  a very  seraph.  Then  again  he  is  so 
sly  and  still,  so  imperturbably  saturnine ; shows  such  indiffer- 
ence, malign  coolness  towards  all  that  men  strive  after ; and 
ever  with  some  half-visible  wrinkle  of  a bitter  sardonic 
humour,  if  indeed  it  be  not  mere  stolid  callousness, — that 
you  look  on  him  almost  with  a shudder,  as  on  some  incarnate 
Mephistopheles,  to  whom  this  great  terrestrial  and  celestial 
Round,  after  all,  were  but  some  huge  foolish  Whirligig,  where 
kings  and  beggars,  and  angels  and  demons,  and  stars  and 
street-sweepings,  were  chaotically  whirled,  in  which  only 
children  could  take  interest.  His  look,  as  we  mentioned,  is 
probably  the  gravest  ever  seen  : yet  it  is  not  of  that  cast-iron 
gravity  frequent  enough  among  our  own  Chancery  suitors ; 
but  rather  the  gravity  as  of  some  silent,  high-encircled 
mountain-pool,  perhaps  the  crater  of  an  extinct  volcano ; into 
whose  black  deeps  you  fear  to  gaze : those  eyes,  those  lights 
that  sparkle  in  it,  may  indeed  be  reflexes  of  the  heavenly 
Stars,  but  perhaps  also  glances  from  the  region  of  Nether 
Fire  ! 

Certainly  a most  involved,  self-secluded,  altogether  enigma- 
tic nature,  this  of  Teufelsdroekh  ! Here,  however,  we  gladly 
recall  to  mind  that  once  we  saw  him  laugh ; once  only, 
perhaps  it  was  the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life ; but  then 
such  a peal  of  laughter,  enough  to  have  awakened  the  Seven 
Sleepers  ! It  was  of  Jean  Paul’s  doing : some  single  billow 
in  that  vast  World-Mahlstrom  of  Humour,  with  its  heaven- 
kissing  coruscations,  which  is  now,  alas,  all  congealed  in  the 
frost  of  death  ! The  large-bodied  Poet  and  the  small,  both 
large  enough  in  soul,  sat  talking  miscellaneously  together,  the 
present  Editor  being  privileged  to  listen ; and  now  Paul,  in 
his  serious  way,  was  giving  one  of  those  inimitable  ‘ Extra- 


26 


SARTOR  RESARTUS 


[BOOK  I. 

harangues  ’ ; and,  as  it  chanced,  On  the  Proposal  for  a Cast- 
metal  King : gradually  a light  kindled  in  our  Professor’s  eyes 
and  face,  a beaming,  mantling,  loveliest  light ; through  those 
murky  features,  a radiant,  ever-young  Apollo  looked ; and  he 
burst  forth  like  the  neighing  of  all  Tattersall’s, — tears 
streaming  down  his  cheeks,  pipe  held  aloft,  foot  clutched  into 
the  air, — loud,  long-continuing,  uncontrollable ; a laugh  not 
of  the  face  and  diaphragm  only,  but  of  the  whole  man  from 
head  to  heel.  The  present  Editor,  who  laughed  indeed,  yet 
with  measure,  began  to  fear  all  was  not  right : however, 
Teufelsdrockh  composed  himself,  and  sank  into  his  old  still- 
ness ; on  his  inscrutable  countenance  there  was,  if  anything, 
a slight  look  of  shame ; and  Richter  himself  could  not  rouse 
him  again.  Readers  who  have  any  tincture  of  Psychology"' 
know  how  much  is  to  be  inferred  from  this ; and  that  no 
man  who  has  once  heartily  and  wholly  laughed  can  be  alto- 
gether irreclaimably  bad.  How  much  lies  in  Laughter  : the 
cipher-key,  wherewith  we  decipher  the  whole  man  ! Some 
men  wear  an  everlasting  barren  simper ; in  the  smile  of  others 
lies  a cold  glitter  as  of  ice : the  fewest  are  able  to  laugh, 
what  can  be  called  laughing,  but  only  sniff  and  titter  and 
snigger  from  the  throat  outwards ; or  at  best,  produce  some 
whiffling  husky  cachinnation,  as  if  they  were  laughing  through 
wool : of  none  such  comes  good.  The  man  who  cannot 
laugh  is  not  only  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils ; but 
his  whole  life  is  already  a treason  and  a stratagem. 

Considered  as  an  Author,  Herr  Teufelsdrockh  has  one 
scarcely  pardonable  fault,  doubtless  his  worst : an  almost 
total  want  of  arrangement.  In  this  remarkable  Volume,  it  is 
true,  his  adherence  to  the  mere  course  of  Time  produces, 
through  the  Narrative  portions,  a certain  show  of  outward 
method  ; but  of  true  logical  method  and  sequence  there  is  too 
little.  Apart  from  its  multifarious  sections  and  subdivisions, 
the  Work  naturally  falls  into  two  Parts ; a Historical- 
Descriptive,  and  a Philosophical-Speculative : but  falls,  un- 
happily, by  no  firm  line  of  demarcation ; in  that  labyrinthic 


CHAP,  v.]  THE  WORLD  OF  CLOTHES  27 

combination,  each  Part  overlaps,  and  indents,  and  indeed 
runs  quite  through  the  other.  Many  sections  are  of  a debat- 
able rubric,  or  even  quite  nondescript  and  unnameable ; 
whereby  the  Book  not  only  loses  in  accessibility,  but  too  often 
distresses  us  like  some  mad  banquet,  wherein  all  courses  had 
been  confomided,  and  fish  and  flesh,  soup  and  solid,  oyster- 
sauce,  lettuces,  Rhine-wine  and  French  mustard,  were  hurled 
into  one  huge  tureen  or  trough,  and  the  hungry  Public 
invited  to  help  itself.  To  bring  what  order  we  can  out  of 
this  Chaos  shall  be  part  of  our  endeavour. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  WOULD  IN  CLOTHES 

Futile  cause-and-efl'ect  Philosophies.  Teufelsdrockh’s  Orhis  Vestitus. 
Clothes  first  invented  for  the  sake  of  ornament.  Picture  of  our  progenitor, 
the  Aboriginal  Savage.  Wonders  of  growth  and  progress  in  mankind’s 
history.  Man  defined  as  a Tool-using  Animal. 

‘ As  Montesquieu  wrote  a Spirit  of  Laws,'  observes  our  Pro- 
fessor, 4 so  could  I write  a Spirit  of  Clothes ; thus,  with  an 
Esprit  des  Lois,  properly  an  Esprit  de  Coutumes,  we  should 
have  an  Esprit  de  Costumes.  For  neither  in  tailoring  nor  in 
legislating  does  man  proceed  by  mere  Accident,  but  the  hand 
is  ever  guided  on  by  mysterious  operations  of  the  mind.  In 
all  his  Modes,  and  habilatory  endeavours,  an  Architectural 
Idea  will  be  found  lurking ; his  Body  and  the  Cloth  are  the 
site  and  materials  whereon  and  whereby  his  beautified  edifice, 
of  a Person,  is  to  be  built.  Whether  he  flow  gracefully  out 
in  folded  mantles,  based  on  light  sandals ; tower-up  in  high 
headgear,  from  amid  peaks,  spangles  and  bell-girdles ; swell- 
out  in  starched  ruffs,  buckram  stuffings,  and  monstrous  tuber- 
osities ; or  girth  himself  into  separate  sections,  and  front  the 
world  an  Agglomeration  of  four  limbs, — will  depend  on  the 
nature  of  such  Architectural  Idea : whether  Grecian,  Gothic, 
Later-Gothic,  or  altogether  Modern,  and  Parisian  or  Anglo- 


28 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

Dandiacal.  Again,  what  meaning  lies  in  Colour  ! From  the 
soberest  drab  to  the  high-flaming  scarlet,  spiritual  idiosyn- 
crasies unfold  themselves  in  choice  of  Colour : if  the  Cut 
betoken  Intellect  and  Talent,  so  does  the  Colour  betoken 
Temper  and  Heart.  In  all  which,  among  nations  as  among 
individuals,  there  is  an  incessant,  indubitable,  though  in- 
finitely complex  working  of  Cause  and  Effect : every  snip 
of  the  Scissors  has  been  regulated  and  prescribed  by  ever-active 
Influences,  which  doubtless  to  Intelligences  of  a superior  order 
are  neither  invisible  nor  illegible. 

‘For  such  superior  Intelligences  a Cause-and-Effect  Philo- 
sophy of  Clothes,  as  of  Laws,  were  probably  a comfortable 
winter-evening  entertainment : nevertheless,  for  inferior  Intel- 
ligences, like  men,  such  Philosophies  have  always  seemed  to 
me  uninstructive  enough.  Nay,  what  is  your  Montesquieu 
himself  but  a clever  infant  spelling  Letters  from  a hierogly- 
phical  prophetic  Book,  the  lexicon  of  which  lies  in  Eternity, 
in  Heaven  ? — Let  any  Cause-and-Effect  Philosopher  explain, 
not  why  I wear  such  and  such  a Garment,  obey  such  and  such 
a Law ; but  even  why  / am  here,  to  wear  and  obey  anything  ! 
— Much,  therefore,  if  not  the  whole,  of  that  same  Spirit  op 
Clothes  I shall  suppress,  as  hypothetical,  ineffectual,  and  even 
impertinent : naked  Facts,  and  Deductions  drawn  therefrom 
in  quite  another  than  that  omniscient  style,  are  my  humbler 
and  proper  province.’ 

Acting  on  which  prudent  restriction,  Teufelsdrockh  has 
nevertheless  contrived  to  take-in  a well-nigh  boundless  extent 
of  field ; at  least,  the  boundaries  too  often  lie  quite  beyond 
our  horizon.  Selection  being  indispensable,  we  shall  here 
glance-over  his  First  Part  only  in  the  most  cursory  manner. 

This  First  Part  is,  no  doubt,  distinguished  by  omnivorous 
learning,  and  utmost  patience  and  fairness  : at  the  same  time, 
in  its  results  and  delineations,  it  is  much  more  likely  to  inte- 
rest the  Compilers  of  some  Library  of  General,  Entertaining, 
Useful,  or  even  Useless  Knowledge  than  the  miscellaneous 
readers  of  these  pages.  Was  it  this  Part  of  the  Book  which 


CHAP,  v.]  THE  WORLD  OF  CLOTHES  29 

Heuschrecke  had  in  view,  when  he  recommended  us  to  that 
joint-stock  vehicle  of  publication,  ‘ at  present  the  glory  of 
British  Literature  ’ ? If  so,  the  Library  Editors  are  welcome 
to  dig  in  it  for  their  own  behoof. 

To  the  First  Chapter,  which  turns  on  Paradise  and 
Fig-leaves,  and  leads  us  into  interminable  disquisitions  of 
a mythological,  metaphorical,  cabalistico-sartorial  and  quite 
antediluvian  cast,  we  shall  content  ourselves  with  giving  an 
unconcerned  approval.  Still  less  have  we  to  do  with  ‘ Lilis, 
Adam’s  first  wife,  whom,  according  to  the  Talmudists,  he  had 
before  Eve,  and  who  bore  him,  in  that  wedlock,  the  whole  pro- 
geny of  aerial,  aquatic,  and  terrestrial  Devils,’ — very  needlessly, 
we  think.  On  this  portion  of  the  Work,  with  its  profound 
glances  into  the  Adam-Kadmcm,  or  Primeval  Element,  here 
strangely  brought  into  relation  with  the  Nijl  and  Muspel 
(Darkness  and  Light)  of  the  antique  North,  it  may  be  enough 
to  say,  that  its  correctness  of  deduction,  and  depth  of 
Talmudic  and  Rabbinical  lore  have  filled  perhaps  not  the 
worst  Hebraist  in  Britain  with  something  like  astonishment. 

But,  quitting  this  twilight  region,  Teufelsdrockh  hastens 
from  the  Tower  of  Babel,  to  follow  the  dispersion  of  Mankind 
over  the  whole  habitable  and  habilable  globe.  Walking  by 
the  light  of  Oriental,  Pelasgic,  Scandinavian,  Egyptian, 
Otaheitean,  Ancient  and  Modern  researches  of  every  con- 
ceivable kind,  he  strives  to  give  us  in  compressed  shape  (as 
the  Niirnbergers  give  an  Orb  is  Pictus ) an  Orbis  Vestitus ; or 
view  of  the  costumes  of  all  mankind,  in  all  countries,  in  all 
times.  It  is  here  that  to  the  Antiquarian,  to  the  Historian, 
we  can  triumphantly  say  : Fall  to  ! Here  is  learning  : an 
irregular  Treasury,  if  you  will ; but  inexhaustible  as  the  Hoard 
of  King  Nibelung,  which  twelve  wagons  in  twelve  days,  at  the 
rate  of  three  journeys  a day,  could  not  carry  off.  Sheep- 
skin cloaks  and  wampum  belts  ; phylacteries,  stoles,  albs  ; 
chlamydes,  togas,  Chinese  silks,  Afghaun  shawls,  trunk-hose, 
leather  breeches,  Celtic  philibegs  (though  breeches,  as  the 
name  Gallia  Braccata  indicates,  are  the  more  ancient),  Hussar 


30 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  i. 

cloaks,  Vandyke  tippets,  ruffs,  fardingales,  are  brought  vividly 
before  us, — even  the  Kilmarnock  nightcap  is  not  forgotten. 
For  most  part,  too,  we  must  admit  that  the  Learning,  hetero- 
geneous as  it  is,  and  tumbled-down  quite  pell-mell,  is  true 
concentrated  and  purified  Learning,  the  drossy  parts  smelted 
out  and  thrown  aside. 

Philosophical  reflections  intervene,  and  sometimes  touching 
pictures  of  human  life.  Of  this  sort  the  following  has  surprised 
us.  The  first  purpose  of  Clothes,  as  our  Professor  imagines, 
was  not  warmth  or  decency,  but  ornament.  ‘ Miserable 
indeed,’  says  he,  ‘ was  the  condition  of  the  Aboriginal  Savage, 
glaring  fiercely  from  under  his  fleece  of  hair,  which  with  the 
beard  reached  down  to  his  loins,  and  hung  round  him  like  a 
matted  cloak  ; the  rest  of  his  body  sheeted  in  its  thick  natural 
fell.  He  loitered  in  the  sunny  glades  of  the  forest,  living  on 
wild-fruits ; or,  as  the  ancient  Caledonian,  squatted  himself  in 
morasses,  lurking  for  his  bestial  or  human  prey ; without 
implements,  without  arms,  save  the  ball  of  heavy  Flint,  to 
which,  that  his  sole  possession  and  defence  might  not  be  lost, 
he  had  attached  a long  cord  of  plaited  thongs ; thereby  re- 
covering as  well  as  hurling  it  with  deadly  unerring  skill. 
Nevertheless,  the  pains  of  Hunger  and  Revenge  once  satisfied, 
his  next  care  was  not  Comfort  but  Decoration  ( Putz ). 
Warmth  he  found  in  the  toils  of  the  chase ; or  amid  dried 
leaves,  in  his  hollow  tree,  in  his  bark  shed,  or  natural  grotto  : 
but  for  Decoration  he  must  have  Clothes.  Nay,  among  wild 
people,  we  find  tattooing  and  painting  even  prior  to  Clothes. 
The  first  spiritual  want  of  a barbarous  man  is  Decoration,  as 
indeed  we  still  see  among  the  barbarous  classes  in  civilised 
countries. 

4 Reader,  the  heaven-inspired  melodious  Singer ; loftiest 
Serene  Highness  ; nay  thy  own  amber-locked,  snow-and-rose- 
bloom  Maiden,  worthy  to  glide  sylphlike  almost  on  air,  whom 
thou  lovest,  worshippest  as  a divine  Presence,  which,  indeed, 
symbolically  taken,  she  is, — has  descended,  like  thyself,  from 
that  same  hair-mantled,  flint-hurling  Aboriginal  Anthropo- 


CHAP,  v.]  THE  WORLD  OF  CLOTHES  31 

phagus  ! Out  of  the  eater  cometh  forth  meat ; out  of  the 
strong  cometh  forth  sweetness.  What  changes  are  wrought, 
not  by  Time,  yet  in  Time  ! For  not  Mankind  only,  but  all 
that  Mankind  does  or  beholds,  is  in  continual  growth,  re- 
genesis and  self-perfecting  vitality.  Cast  forth  thy  Act,  thy 
Word,  into  the  ever-living,  ever-working  Universe : it  is  a 
seed-grain  that  cannot  die  ; unnoticed  today  (says  one),  it  will 
be  found  flourishing  as  a Banyan-grove  (perhaps,  alas,  as  a 
Hemlock-forest !)  after  a thousand  years. 

‘ He  who  first  shortened  the  labour  of  Copyists  by  device  of 
Movable  Types  was  disbanding  hired  Armies,  and  cashiering 
most  Kings  and  Senates,  and  creating  a whole  new  Democratic 
world : he  had  invented  the  Art  of  Printing.  The  first 
ground  handful  of  Nitre,  Sulphur,  and  Charcoal  drove  Monk 
Schwartz’s  pestle  through  the  ceiling  : what  will  the  last  do  ? 
Achieve  the  final  undisputed  prostration  of  Force  under 
Thought,  of  Animal  courage  under  Spiritual.  A simple 
invention  it  was  in  the  old-world  Grazier, — sick  of  lugging 
his  slow  Ox  about  the  country  till  he  got  it  bartered  for  corn 
or  oil, — to  take  a piece  of  Leather,  and  thereon  scratch  or 
stamp  the  mere  Figure  of  an  Ox  (or  Pecus ) ; put  it  in  his 
pocket,  and  call  it  Pecunia,  Money.  Yet  hereby  did  Barter 
grow  Sale,  the  Leather  Money  is  now  Golden  and  Paper,  and 
all  miracles  have  been  out-miracled  : for  there  are  Rothschilds 
and  English  National  Debts ; and  whoso  has  sixpence  is 
sovereign  (to  the  length  of  sixpence)  over  all  men ; commands 
cooks  to  feed  him,  philosophers  to  teach  him,  kings  to  mount 
guard  over  him, — to  the  length  of  sixpence. — Clothes  too, 
which  began  in  foolishest  love  of  Ornament,  what  have  they 
not  become  ! Increased  Security  and  pleasurable  Heat  soon 
followed  : but  what  of  these  P Shame,  divine  Shame,  ( Schaam , 
Modesty),  as  yet  a stranger  to  the  Anthropophagous  bosom, 
arose  there  mysteriously  under  Clothes ; a mystic  grove- 
encircled  shrine  for  the  Holy  in  man.  Clothes  gave  us 
individuality,  distinctions,  social  polity ; Clothes  have  made 
Men  of  us  ; they  are  threatening  to  make  Clothes-screens  of  us. 


32 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

‘ But,  on  the  whole,1  continues  our  eloquent  Professor,  ‘ Man 
is  a Tool-using  Animal  ( Handthierendes  Timer).  Weak  in 
himself,  and  of  small  stature,  he  stands  on  a basis,  at  most  for 
the  flattest-soled,  of  some  half-square  foot,  insecurely  enough ; 
has  to  straddle  out  his  legs,  lest  the  very  wind  supplant  him. 
Feeblest  of  bipeds  ! Three  quintals  are  a crushing  load  for 
him ; the  steer  of  the  meadow  tosses  him  aloft,  like  a waste 
rag.  Nevertheless  he  can  use  Tools,  can  devise  Tools  : with 
these  the  granite  mountain  melts  into  light  dust  before  him  ; 
he  kneads  glowing  iron,  as  if  it  were  soft  paste ; seas  are 
his  smooth  highway,  winds  and  fire  his  unwearying  steeds. 
Nowhere  do  you  find  him  without  Tools  : without  Tools  he 
is  nothing,  with  Tools  he  is  all.1 

Here  may  we  not,  for  a moment,  interrupt  the  stream  of 
Oratory  with  a remark,  that  this  Definition  of  the  Tool-using 
Animal  appears  to  us,  of  all  that  Animal-sort,  considerably 
the  precisest  and  best  ? Man  is  called  a Laughing  Animal : 
but  do  not  the  apes  also  laugh,  or  attempt  to  do  it ; and  is 
the  manliest  man  the  greatest  and  oftenest  laugher  ? Teufels- 
drockh  himself,  as  we  said,  laughed  only  once.  Still  less  do  we 
make  of  that  other  French  Definition  of  the  Cooking  Animal ; 
which,  indeed,  for  rigorous  scientific  purposes,  is  as  good  as 
useless.  Can  a Tartar  be  said  to  cook,  when  he  only  readies 
his  steak  by  riding  on  it  ? Again,  what  Cookery  does  the 
Greenlander  use,  beyond  stowing-up  his  whale-blubber,  as  a 
marmot,  in  the  like  case,  might  do  ? Or  how  would 
Monsieur  Ude  prosper  among  those  Orinocco  Indians  who, 
according  to  Humboldt,  lodge  in  crow-nests,  on  the  branches 
of  trees  ; and,  for  half  the  year,  have  no  victuals  but  pipe-clay, 
the  whole  country  being  under  water  ? But,  on  the  other  hand, 
show  us  the  human  being,  of  any  period  or  climate,  without 
his  Tools  : those  very  Caledonians,  as  we  saw,  had  their  Flint- 
ball,  and  Thong  to  it,  such  as  no  brute  has  or  can  have. 

‘ Man  is  a Tool-using  Animal,1  concludes  Teufelsdrockh  in 
his  abrupt  way  ; 4 of  which  truth  Clothes  are  but  one  example  : 
and  surely  if  Ave  consider  the  interval  betAveen  the  first  wooden 


APRONS 


33 


CHAP.  VI.] 


Dibble  fashioned  by  man,  and  those  Liverpool  Steam-carriages, 
or  the  British  House  of  Commons,  we  shall  note  what 
progress  he  has  made.  He  digs  up  certain  black  stones  from 
the  bosom  of  the  earth,  and  says  to  them,  Transport  me  and 
this  luggage  at  the  rate  of  five-and-tliirty  miles  an  hour ; and 
they  do  it : he  collects,  apparently  by  lot,  six-hundred  and 
fifty-eight  miscellaneous  individuals,  and  says  to  them,  Make 
this  nation  toil  for  us,  bleed  for  us,  hunger  and  sorrow  and  sin 
for  us ; and  they  do  it.’ 


CHAPTER  VI 
APRONS 

Divers  Aprons  in  the  world  with  divers  uses.  The  Military  and  Police 
Establishment  Society’s  working  Apron.  The  Episcopal  Apron  with  its 
comer  tucked  in.  The  Laystall.  Journalists  now  our  only  Kings  and 
Clergy. 

One  of  the  most  unsatisfactory  Sections  in  the  whole  Volume 
is  that  on  Aprons.  What  though  stout  old  Gao,  the  Persian 
Blacksmith,  ‘whose  Apron,  now  indeed  hidden  under  jewels, 
because  raised  in  revolt  which  proved  successful,  is  still  the 
royal  standard  of  that  country  ’ ; what  though  John  Knox’s 
Daughter,  ‘who  threatened  Sovereign  Majesty  that  she  would 
catch  her  husband’s  head  in  her  Apron,  rather  than  he  should 
lie  and  be  a bishop  ’ ; what  though  the  Landgravine  Elizabeth, 
with  many  other  Apron  worthies, — figure  here  ? An  idle 
wire-drawing  spirit,  sometimes  even  a tone  of  levity,  approach- 
ing to  conventional  satire,  is  too  clearly  discernible.  What, 
for  example,  are  we  to  make  of  such  sentences  as  the  following  ? 

‘ Aprons  are  Defences ; against  injury  to  cleanliness,  to 
safety,  to  modesty,  sometimes  to  roguery.  From  the  thin  slip 
of  notched  silk  (as  it  were,  the  emblem  and  beatified  ghost  of 
an  Apron),  which  some  highest-bred  housewife,  sitting  at 
Nurnberg  Workboxes  and  Toyboxes,  has  gracefully  fastened 
on ; to  the  thick-tanned  hide,  girt  round  him  with  thongs, 
wherein  the  Builder  builds,  and  at  evening  sticks  his  trowel ; 


34 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  i. 

or  to  those  jingling  sheet-iron  Aprons,  wherein  your  otherwise 
half-naked  Vulcans  hammer  and  smelt  in  their  smelt-furnace, — 
is  there  not  range  enough  in  the  fashion  and  uses  of  this 
Vestment  ? How  much  has  been  concealed,  how  much  has 
been  defended  in  Aprons  ! Nay,  rightly  considered,  what  is 
your  whole  Military  and  Police  Establishment,  charged  at 
uncalculated  millions,  but  a huge  scarlet-coloured,  iron- 
fastened  Apron,  wherein  Society  works  (uneasily  enough) ; 
guarding  itself  from  some  soil  and  stithy-sparks,  in  this 
Devil’s-smithy  ( Teufelsschmiede)  of  a world?  But  of  all 
Aprons  the  most  puzzling  to  me  hitherto  has  been  the 
Episcopal  or  Cassock.  Wherein  consists  the  usefulness  of 
this  Apron  ? The  Overseer  (. Episcopus ) of  Souls,  I notice, 
has  tucked  in  the  corner  of  it,  as  if  his  day’s  work  were  done  : 
what  does  he  shadow  forth  thereby  ? 1 &c.  &c. 

Or  again,  has  it  often  been  the  lot  of  our  readers  to  read 
such  stuff  as  we  shall  now  quote  ? 

‘ I consider  those  printed  Paper  Aprons,  worn  by  the 
Parisian  Cooks,  as  a new  vent,  though  a slight  one,  for 
Typography ; therefore  as  an  encouragement  to  modern 
Literature,  and  deserving  of  approval ; nor  is  it  without 
satisfaction  that  I hear  of  a celebrated  London  Firm  having 
in  view  to  introduce  the  same  fashion,  with  important  exten- 
sions, in  England.’ — We  who  are  on  the  spot  hear  of  no  such 
thing ; and  indeed  have  reason  to  be  thankful  that  hitherto 
there  are  other  vents  for  our  Literature,  exuberant  as  it  is. — 
Teufelsdrockh  continues  : ‘ If  such  supply  of  printed  Paper 

should  rise  so  far  as  to  choke-up  the  highways  and  public 
thoroughfares,  new  means  must  of  necessity  be  had  recourse 
to.  In  a world  existing  by  Industry,  we  grudge  to  employ 
fire  as  a destroying  element,  and  not  as  a creating  one. 
However,  Heaven  is  omnipotent,  and  will  find  us  an  outlet. 
In  the  mean  while,  is  it  not  beautiful  to  see  five-million 
quintals  of  Rags  picked  annually  from  the  Laystall ; and 
annually,  after  being  macerated,  hot-pressed,  printed-on,  and 
sold, — returned  thither ; filling  so  many  hungry  mouths  by 


CHAP.  VII.]  MISCELLANEOUS-HISTORICAL  35 

the  way?  Thus  is  the  Laystall,  especially  with  its  Rags  or 
Clothes-rubbish,  the  grand  Electric  Battery,  and  Fountain-of- 
motion,  from  which  and  to  which  the  Social  Activities  (like 
vitreous  and  resinous  Electricities)  circulate,  in  larger  or 
smaller  circles,  through  the  mighty,  billowy,  stormtost  Chaos  of 
Life,  which  they  keep  alive  ! ’• — Such  passages  fill  us,  who  love 
the  man,  and  partly  esteem  him,  with  a very  mixed  feeling. 

Farther  down  we  meet  with  this  : 4 The  Journalists  are 

now  the  true  Kings  and  Clergy : henceforth  Historians,  unless 
they  are  fools,  must  write  not  of  Bourbon  Dynasties,  and 
Tudors  and  Hapsburgs ; but  of  Stamped  Broad-sheet 
Dynasties,  and  quite  new  successive  Names,  according  as  this 
or  the  other  Able  Editor,  or  Combination  of  Able  Editors, 
gains  the  world’s  ear.  Of  the  British  Newspaper  Press, 
perhaps  the  most  important  of  all,  and  wonderful  enough  in 
its  secret  constitution  and  procedure,  a valuable  descriptive 
History  already  exists,  in  that  language,  under  the  title  of 
Satan’s  Invisible  World  Displayed ; which,  however,  by  search 
in  all  the  Weissnichtwo  Libraries,  I have  not  yet  succeeded 
in  procuring  ( vermochte  nicht  awfzutreiben ).’ 

Tlius  does  the  good  Homer  not  only  nod,  but  snore. 
Thus  does  Teufelsdrockh,  wandering  in  regions  where  he  had 
little  business,  confound  the  old  authentic  Presbyterian 
Witchfinder  with  a new,  spurious,  imaginary  Historian  of  the 
Brittische  Journalistik ; and  so  stumble  on  perhaps  the  most 
egregious  blunder  in  Modem  Literature  ! 


CHAPTER  VII 

MISCELLANEOUS-HISTORICAL 

How  Men  and  Fashions  come  and  go.  German  Costume  in  the  fifteenth 
century.  By  what  strange  chances  do  we  live  in  History  ! The  costume  of 
Bolivar’s  Cavalry. 

Happier  is  our  Professor,  and  more  purely  scientific  and 
historic,  when  he  reaches  the  Middle  Ages  in  Europe,  and 
down  to  the  end  of  the  Seventeenth  Century ; the  true  era  of 


36 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

extravagance  in  Costume.  It  is  here  that  the  Antiquary  and 
Student  of  Modes  comes  upon  his  richest  harvest.  Fantastic 
garbs,  beggaring  all  fancy  of  a Teniers  or  a Callot,  succeeded 
each  other,  like  monster  devouring  monster  in  a Dream.  The 
whole  too  in  brief  authentic  strokes,  and  touched  not  seldom 
with  that  breath  of  genius  which  makes  even  old  raiment  live. 
Indeed,  so  learned,  precise,  graphical,  and  everyway  interesting 
have  we  found  these  Chapters,  that  it  may  be  thrown-out  as 
a pertinent  question  for  parties  concerned,  Whether  or  not 
a good  English  translation  thereof  might  henceforth  be 
profitably  incorporated  with  Mr.  Merrick’s  valuable  Work 
On  Ancient  Armour  ? Take,  by  way  of  example,  the  follow- 
ing sketch ; as  authority  for  which  Paulinus’s  Zeitlcurzende 
Lust  (ii.  678)  is,  with  seeming  confidence,  referred  to : 

‘ Did  we  behold  the  German  fashionable  dress  of  the 
Fifteenth  Century,  we  might  smile ; as  perhaps  those  bygone 
Germans,  were  they  to  rise  again,  and  see  our  haberdashery, 
would  cross  themselves,  and  invoke  the  Virgin.  But  happily 
no  bygone  German,  or  man,  rises  again ; thus  the  Present  is 
not  needlessly  trammelled  with  the  Past ; and  only  grows  out 
of  it,  like  a Tree,  whose  roots  are  not  intertangled  with  its 
branches,  but  lie  peaceably  underground.  Nay  it  is  vei'y 
mournful,  yet  not  useless,  to  see  and  know,  how  the  Greatest 
and  Dearest,  in  a short  while,  would  find  his  place  quite  filled- 
up  here,  and  no  room  for  him ; the  very  Napoleon,  the  very 
Byron,  in  some  seven  years,  has  become  obsolete,  and  were 
now  a foreigner  to  his  Europe.  This  is  the  law  of  Progress 
secured ; and  in  Clothes,  as  in  all  other  external  things 
whatsoever,  no  fashion  will  continue. 

‘ Of  the  military  classes  in  those  old  times,  whose  buff-belts, 
complicated  chains  and  gorgets,  huge  churn-boots,  and  other 
riding  and  fighting  gear  have  been  bepainted  in  modern 
Romance,  till  the  whole  has  acquired  somewhat  of  a sign- 
post character, — I shall  here  say  nothing : the  civil  and 
pacific  classes,  less  touched  upon,  are  wonderful  enough  for 
us. 


CHAP,  vii.]  MISCELLANEOUS-HISTORICAL  37 

‘ Rich  men,  I find,  have  Teusinke  ’ (a  perhaps  untrans- 
lateable  article) ; ‘ also  a silver  girdle,  whereat  hang  little 
bells ; so  that  when  a man  walks,  it  is  with  continual 
jingling.  Some  few,  of  musical  turn,  have  a whole  chime  of 
bells  ( Glockenspiel ) fastened  there ; which,  especially  in  sudden 
whirls,  and  the  other  accidents  of  walking,  has  a grateful 
effect.  Observe  too  how  fond  they  are  of  peaks,  and  Gothic- 
arch  intersections.  The  male  world  wears  peaked  caps,  an  ell 
long,  which  hang  bobbing  over  the  side  ( schief ) : their  shoes 
are  peaked  in  front,  also  to  the  length  of  an  ell,  and  laced 
on  the  side  with  tags ; even  the  wooden  shoes  have  their 
ell-long  noses  : some  also  clap  bells  on  the  peak.  Further, 
according  to  my  authority,  the  men  have  breeches  without 
seat  (ohne  Gesdss ) : these  they  fasten  peakwise  to  their  shirts  ; 
and  the  long  round  doublet  must  overlap  them. 

‘ Rich  maidens,  again,  flit  abroad  in  gowns  scolloped  out 
behind  and  before,  so  that  back  and  breast  are  almost  bare. 
Wives  of  quality,  on  the  other  hand,  have  train-gowns  four 
or  five  ells  in  length ; which  trains  there  are  boys  to  carry. 
Brave  Cleopatras,  sailing  in  their  silk-cloth  Galley,  with  a 
Cupid  for  steersman  ! Consider  their  welts,  a handbreadth 
thick,  which  waver  round  them  by  way  of  hem ; the  long 
flood  of  silver  buttons,  or  rather  silver  shells,  from  throat  to 
shoe,  wherewith  these  same  welt-gowns  are  buttoned.  The 
maidens  have  bound  silver  snoods  about  their  hair,  with  gold 
spangles,  and  pendent  flames  ( Flammen ),  that  is,  sparkling 
hair-drops  : but  of  their  mother’s  headgear  who  shall  speak  ? 
Neither  in  love  of  grace  is  comfort  forgotten.  In  winter 
weather  you  behold  the  whole  fair  creation  (that  can  afford 
it)  in  long  mantles,  with  skirts  wide  below,  and,  for  hem,  not 
one  but  two  sufficient  hand-broad  welts ; all  ending  atop  in 
a thick  well-starched  Ruff,  some  twenty  inches  broad : these 
are  their  Ruff-mantles  ( ' Kragenmdntel ). 

‘ As  yet  among  the  womankind  hoop-petticoats  are  not ; 
but  the  men  have  doublets  of  fustian,  under  which  lie  multiple 
ruffs  of  cloth,  pasted  together  with  batter  (mit  Teig  zusammen- 


38  SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  I. 

gekleistert ),  which  create  protuberance  enough.  Thus  do  the 
two  sexes  vie  with  each  other  in  the  art  of  Decoration ; and 
as  usual  the  stronger  carries  it.’ 

Our  Professor,  whether  he  have  humour  himself  or  not, 
manifests  a certain  feeling  of  the  Ludici’ous,  a sly  observance 
of  it,  which,  could  emotion  of  any  kind  be  confidently  predi- 
cated of  so  still  a man,  we  might  call  a real  love.  ■ None  of 
those  bell-girdles,  bushel-breeches,  cornuted  shoes,  or  other 
the  like  phenomena,  of  which  the  History  of  Dress  offers  so 
many,  escape  him  : more  especially  the  mischances,  or  striking 
adventures,  incident  to  the  wearers  of  such,  are  noticed  with 
due  fidelity.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh’s  fine  mantle,  which  he 
spread  in  the  mud  under  Queen  Elizabeth’s  feet,  appears  to 
provoke  little  enthusiasm  in  him ; he  merely  asks,  Whether 
at  that  period  the  Maiden  Queen  ‘ was  red-painted  on  the 
nose,  and  white-painted  on  the  cheeks,  as  her  tirewomen, 
when  from  spleen  and  wrinkles  she  would  no  longer  look  in 
any  glass,  were  wont  to  serve  her  ? ’ We  can  answer  that  Sir 
Walter  knew  well  what  he  was  doing,  and  had  the  Maiden 
Queen  been  stuffed  parchment  dyed  in  verdigris,  would  have 
done  the  same. 

Thus  too,  treating  of  those  enormous  habiliments,  that 
were  not  only  slashed  and  galooned,  but  artificially  swollen- 
out  on  the  broader  parts  of  the  body,  by  introduction  of 
Bran, — our  Professor  fails  not  to  comment  on  that  luckless 
Courtier,  who  having  seated  himself  on  a chair  with  some 
projecting  nail  on  it,  and  therefrom  rising,  to  pay  his  devoir 
on  the  entrance  of  Majesty,  instantaneously  emitted  several 
pecks  of  dry  wheat-dust : and  stood  there  diminished  to  a 
spindle,  his  galoons  and  slashes  dangling  sorrowful  and  flabby 
round  him.  Whereupon  the  Professor  publishes  this  reflec- 
tion : 

‘ By  what  strange  chances  do  we  live  in  History  ? Eros- 
tratus  by  a torch ; Milo  by  a bullock ; Henry  Darnley,  an 
unfledged  booby  and  bustard,  by  his  limbs ; most  Kings  and 
Queens  by  being  born  under  such  and  such  a bed-tester ; 


CHAP.  VIII.]  THE  WORLD  OUT  OF  CLOTHES  39 

Boileau  Despreaux  (according  to  Helvetius)  by  the  peck  of 
a turkey ; and  this  ill-starred  individual  by  a rent  in  his 
breeches, — for  no  Memoirist  of  Kaiser  Otto’s  Court  omits 
him.  Vain  was  the  prayer  of  Themistocles  for  a talent  of 
Forgetting : my  Friends,  yield  cheerfully  to  Destiny,  and 
read  since  it  is  written.’ — Has  Teufelsdrockh  to  be  put  in 
mind  that,  nearly  related  to  the  impossible  talent  of  Forget- 
ting, stands  that  talent  of  Silence,  which  even  travelling 
Englishmen  manifest  ? 

‘ The  simplest  costume,’  observes  our  Professor,  ‘ which  I 
anywhere  find  alluded  to  in  History,  is  that  used  as  regi- 
mental, by  Bolivar’s  Cavalry,  in  the  late  Columbian  wars.  A 
square  Blanket,  twelve  feet  in  diagonal,  is  provided  (some 
were  wont  to  cut-off  the  corners,  and  make  it  circular)  : in 
the  centre  a slit  is  effected  eighteen  inches  long ; through 
this  the  mother-naked  Trooper  introduces  his  head  and  neck ; 
and  so  rides  shielded  from  all  weather,  and  in  battle  from 
many  strokes  (for  he  rolls  it  about  his  left  arm) ; and  not 
only  dressed,  but  harnessed  and  draperied.’ 

With  which  picture  of  a State  of  Nature,  affecting  by  its 
singularity,  and  Old-Roman  contempt  of  the  superfluous,  we 
shall  quit  this  part  of  our  subject. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  WORLD  OUT  OF  CLOTHES 

Teufelsdrockh’s  Theorem,  ‘ Society  founded  upon  Cloth  ’ ; his  Method, 
Intuition  quickened  by  Experience. — The  mysterious  question,  Who  am  I? 
Philosophic  systems  all  at  fault : A deeper  meditation  has  always  taught, 
here  and  there  an  individual,  that  all  visible  things  are  appearances  only  ; 
but  also  emblems  and  revelations  of  God.  Teufelsdrockh  first  comes  upon 
the  question  of  Clothes : Baseness  to  which  Clothing  may  bring  us. 

If  in  the  Descriptive-Historical  portion  of  this  Volume, 
Teufelsdrockh,  discussing  merely  the  Werden  (Origin  and 
successive  Improvement)  of  Clothes,  has  astonished  many  a 
reader,  much  more  will  he  in  the  Speculative-Philosophical 


40  SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  I. 

portion,  which  treats  of  their  Wirken,  or  Influences.  It  is 
here  that  the  present  Editor  first  feels  the  pressure  of  his 
task ; for  here  properly  the  higher  and  new  Philosophy  of 
Clothes  commences  : an  untried,  almost  inconceivable  region, 
or  chaos ; in  venturing  upon  which,  how  difficult,  yet  how 
unspeakably  important  is  it  to  know  what  course,  of  survey 
and  conquest,  is  the  true  one ; where  the  footing  is  firm 
substance  and  will  bear  us,  where  it  is  hollow,  or  mere  cloud, 
and  may  engulf  us  ! Teufelsdrockh  undertakes  no  less  than 
to  expound  the  moral,  political,  even  religious  Influences  of 
Clothes ; he  undertakes  to  make  manifest,  in  its  thousandfold 
bearings,  this  grand  Proposition,  that  Man’s  earthly  interests, 
{ are  all  hooked  and  buttoned  together,  and  held  up,  by 
Clothes.’  He  says  in  so  many  words,  ‘ Society  is  founded 
upon  Cloth’ ; and  again,  e Society  sails  through  the  Infinitude 
on  Cloth,  as  on  a Faust’s  Mantle,  or  rather  like  the  Sheet  of 
clean  and  unclean  beasts  in  the  Apostle’s  Dream ; and  with- 
out such  Sheet  or  Mantle,  would  sink  to  endless  depths,  or 
mount  to  inane  limboes,  and  in  either  case  be  no  more.’ 

By  what  chains,  or  indeed  infinitely  complected  tissues,  of 
meditation  this  grand  Theorem  is  here  unfolded,  and  innumer- 
able practical  Corollaries  are  drawn  therefrom,  it  were  per- 
haps a mad  ambition  to  attempt  exhibiting.  Our  Professor’s 
method  is  not,  in  any  case,  that  of  common  school  Logic, 
where  the  truths  all  stand  in  a row,  each  holding  by  the 
skirts  of  the  other ; but  at  best  that  of  practical  Reason, 
proceeding  by  large  Intuition  over  whole  systematic  groups 
and  kingdoms ; whereby,  we  might  say,  a noble  complexity, 
almost  like  that  of  Nature,  reigns  in  his  Philosophy,  or 
spiritual  Picture  of  Nature : a mighty  maze,  yet,  as  faith 
whispers,  not  without  a plan.  Nay  we  complained  above, 
that  a certain  ignoble  complexity,  what  we  must  call  mere 
confusion,  was  also  discernible.  Often,  also,  we  have  to 
exclaim  : Would  to  Heaven  those  same  Biographical  Docu- 
ments were  come  ! For  it  seems  as  if  the  demonstration  lay 
much  in  the  Author’s  individuality ; as  if  it  were  not  Argu- 


CHAP.  VIII.]  THE  WORLD  OUT  OF  CLOTHES  41 

ment  that  had  taught  him,  but  Experience.  At  present  it  is 
only  in  local  glimpses,  and  by  significant  fragments,  picked 
often  at  wide-enough  intervals  from  the  original  Volume,  and 
carefully  collated,  that  we  can  hope  to  impart  some  outline  or 
foreshadow  of  this  Doctrine.  Readers  of  any  intelligence  are 
once  more  invited  to  favour  us  with  their  most  concentrated 
attention  : let  these,  after  intense  consideration,  and  not  till 
then,  pronounce,  Whether  on  the  utmost  verge  of  our  actual 
horizon  there  is  not  a looming  as  of  Land ; a promise  of  new 
Fortunate  Islands,  perhaps  whole  undiscovered  Americas,  for 
such  as  have  canvas  to  sail  thither  ? — As  exordium  to  the 
whole,  stand  here  the  following  long  citation  : 

‘ With  men  of  a speculative  turn,1  writes  Teufelsdrockh, 
there  come  seasons,  meditative,  sweet,  yet  awful  hours,  when 
in  wonder  and  fear  you  ask  yourself  that  unanswerable  ques- 
tion : Who  am  / ; the  thing  that  can  say  “ 1 11  (das  Wesen 
das  sick  Ich  nennt ) ? The  world,  with  its  loud  trafficking, 
retires  into  the  distance ; and,  through  the  paper-hangings, 
and  stone-walls,  and  thick-plied  tissues  of  Commerce  and 
Polity,  and  all  the  living  and  lifeless  integuments  (of  Society 
and  a Body),  wherewith  your  Existence  sits  surrounded,— the 
sight  reaches  forth  into  the  void  Deep,  and  you  are  alone 
with  the  Universe,  and  silently  commune  with  it,  as  one 
mysterious  Presence  with  another. 

‘ Who  am  I ; what  is  this  Me  ? A Voice,  a Motion,  an 
Appearance ; — some  embodied,  visualised  Idea  in  the  Eternal 
Mind  ? Cogito,  ergo  sum.  Alas,  poor  Cogitator,  this  takes  us 
but  a little  way.  Sure  enough,  I am ; and  lately  was  not : 
but  Whence  ? How  ? Whereto  ? The  answer  lies  around, 
written  in  all  colours  and  motions,  uttered  in  all  tones  of 
jubilee  and  wail,  in  thousand-figured,  thousand-voiced,  har- 
monious Nature : but  where  is  the  cunning  eye  and  ear  to 
whom  that  God-written  Apocalypse  will  yield  articulate 
meaning  ? We  sit  as  in  a boundless  Phantasmagoria  and 
Dream-grotto ; boundless,  for  the  faintest  star,  the  remotest 
century,  lies  not  even  nearer  the  verge  thereof : sounds  and 


42 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  i. 

many-coloured  visions  flit  round  our  sense ; but  Him,  the 
Unslumbering,  whose  work  both  Dream  and  Dreamer  are,  we 
see  not ; except  in  rare  half- waking  moments,  suspect  not. 
Creation,  says  one,  lies  befoi’e  us,  like  a glorious  Rainbow ; 
but  the  Sun  that  made  it  lies  behind  us,  hidden  from  us. 
Then,  in  that  strange  Dream,  how  we  clutch  at  shadows  as  if 
they  were  substances ; and  sleep  deepest  while  fancying  our- 
selves most  awake  ! Which  of  your  Philosophical  Systems  is 
other  than  a dream-theorem ; a net  quotient,  confidently 
given  out,  where  divisor  and  dividend  are  both  unknown  ? 
What  are  all  your  national  Wars,  with  them  Moscow 
Retreats,  and  sanguinary  hate-filled  Revolutions,  but  the  Som- 
nambulism of  uneasy  Sleepers  ? This  Dreaming,  this  Som- 
nambulism is  what  we  on  Earth  call  Life  ; wherein  the  most 
indeed  undoubtedly  wander,  as  if  they  knew  right  hand  from 
left ; yet  they  only  are  wise  who  know  that  they  know 
nothing. 

‘ Pity  that  all  Metaphysics  had  hitherto  proved  so  inexpres- 
sibly unproductive ! The  secret  of  Man’s  Being  is  still  like 
the  Sphinx’s  secret : a riddle  that  he  cannot  rede ; and  for 
ignorance  of  which  he  suffers  death,  the  worst  death,  a 
spiritual.  What  are  your  Axioms,  and  Categories,  and 
Systems,  and  Aphorisms  ? Words,  words.  High  Air-castles 
are  cunningly  built  of  Words,  the  Words  well  bedded  also  in 
good  Logic-mortar ; wherein,  however,  no  Knowledge  will 
come  to  lodge.  The  whole  is  greater  than  the  part : how 
exceedingly  true  ! Nature  abhors  a vacuum  : how  exceedingly 
false  and  calumnious  ! Again,  Nothing  can  act  hut  where  it 
is  : with  all  my  heart ; only,  where  is  it  ? Be  not  the  slave 
of  Words  : is  not  the  Distant,  the  Dead,  while  I love  it,  and 
long  for  it,  and  mourn  for  it,  Here,  in  the  genuine  sense,  as 
truly  as  the  floor  I stand  on  ? But  that  same  Where,  with 
its  brother  When,  are  from  the  first  the  master-colours  of  our 
Dream-grotto ; say  rather,  the  Canvas  (the  warp  and  woof 
thereof)  whereon  all  our  Dreams  and  Life-visions  are  painted. 
Nevertheless,  has  not  a deeper  meditation  taught  certain  of 


chap,  viil]  THE  WORLD  OUT  OF  CLOTHES  43 

every  climate  and  age,  that  the  Where  and  When,  so  myste- 
riously inseparable  from  all  our  thoughts,  are  but  superficial 
terrestrial  adhesions  to  thought ; that  the  Seer  may  discern 
them  where  they  mount  up  out  of  the  celestial  Everywhere 
and  forever  : have  not  all  nations  conceived  their  God  as 
Omnipresent  and  Eternal ; as  existing  in  a universal  Here, 
an  everlasting  Now  ? Think  well,  thou  too  wilt  find  that 
Space  is  but  a mode  of  our  human  Sense,  so  likewise  Time ; 
there  is  no  Space  and  no  Time : We  are — we  know  not 
what : — light-sparkles  floating;  in  the  aether  of  Diety  ! 

o i-  . „ ,1.1 — T-— <-rrfnwfnrrr»irw^ff'  * 

4 So  that~tlns  so  solid-seeming  World,  after  all,  were  but 
an  air-image,  our  Me  the  only  reality : and  Nature,  with  its 
thousandfold  production  and  destruction,  but  the  reflex  of  our 
own  inward  Force,  the  44  phantasy  of  our  Dream 11 ; or  what 
the  Earth-Spirit  in  Faust  names  it,  the  living  visible  Garment 
of  God: 

‘ “ In  Being’s  floods,  in  Action’s  storm, 

I walk  and  work,  above,  beneath, 

Work  and  weave  in  endless  motion  ! 

Birth  and  Death, 

An  infinite  ocean ; 

A seizing  and  giving 
The  fire  of  Living  : 

’Tis  thus  at  the  roaring  Loom  of  Time  I ply. 

And  weave  for  God  the  Garment  thou  seest  Him  by.” 

Of  twenty  millions  that  have  read  and  spouted  this  thunder- 
speech  of  the  Erdgeist , are  there  yet  twenty  units  of  us  that 
have  learned  the  meaning  thereof? 

4 It  was  in  some  such  mood,  when  wearied  and  fordone  with 
these  high  speculations,  that  I first  came  upon  the  question  of 
Clothes.  Strange  enough,  it  strikes  me,  is  this  same  fact  of 
there  being  Tailors  and  Tailored.  The  Horse  I ride  has  his 
own  whole  fell : strip  him  of  the  girths  and  flaps  and  extrane- 
ous tags  I have  fastened  round  him,  and  the  noble  creature  is 
his  own  sempster  and  weaver  and  spinner ; nay  his  own  boot- 
maker, jeweller,  and  man-milliner ; he  bounds  free  through 


44 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  l 

the  valleys,  with  a perennial  rainproof  court-suit  on  his  body ; 
wherein  warmth  and  easiness  of  fit  have  reached  perfection ; 
nay,  the  graces  also  have  been  considered,  and  frills  and 
fringes,  with  gay  variety  of  colour,  featly  appended,  and  ever 
in  the  right  place,  are  not  wanting.  While  I — good  Heaven  ! 
— have  thatched  myself  over  with  the  dead  fleeces  of  sheep, 
the  bark  of  vegetables,  the  entrails  of  worms,  the  hides  of  oxen 
or  seals,  the  felt  of  furred  beasts ; and  walk  abroad  a moving 
Rag  -screen,  overheaped  with  shreds  and  tatters  raked  from  the 
Charnel-house  of  Nature,  where  they  would  have  rotted,  to  rot 
on  me  more  slowly  ! Day  after  day,  I must  thatch  myself 
anew ; day  after  day,  this  despicable  thatch  must  lose  some 
film  of  its  thickness ; some  film  of  it,  frayed  away  by  tear  and 
wear,  must  be  brushed-off  into  the  Ashpit,  into  the  Laystall ; 
till  by  degrees  the  whole  has  been  brushed  thither,  and  I,  the 
dust-making,  patent  Rag-grinder,  get  new  material  to  grind 
down.  O subter-brutish  ! vile  ! most  vile  ! For  have  not  I 
too  a compact  all-enclosing  Skin,  whiter  or  dingier  ? Am  I a 
botched  mass  of  tailors’  and  cobblers’  shreds,  then ; or  a 
tightly-articulated,  homogeneous  little  Figure,  automatic,  nay 
alive  ? 

‘Strange  enough  how  creatures  of  the  human-kind  shut 
their  eyes  to  plainest  facts  ; and  by  the  mere  inertia  of 
Oblivion  and  Stupidity,  live  at  ease  in  the  midst  of  Wonders 
and  Terrors.  But  indeed  man  is,  and  was  always,  a blockhead 
and  dullard ; much  readier  to  feel  and  digest,  than  to  think 
and  consider.  Prejudice,  which  he  pretends  to  hate,  is  his 
absolute  lawgiver ; mere  use-and-wont  everywhere  leads  him 
by  the  nose ; thus  let  but  a Rising  of  the  Sun,  let  but  a 
Creation  of  the  World  happen  twice,  and  it  ceases  to  be  marvel- 
lous, to  be  noteworthy,  or  noticeable.  Perhaps  not  once  in  a 
lifetime  does  it  occur  to  your  ordinary  biped,  of  any  country 
or  generation,  be  he  gold-mantled  Prince,  or  russet-jerkined 
Peasant,  that  his  Vestments  and  his  Self  are  not  one  and  indi- 
visible ; that  he  is  naked,  without  vestments,  till  he  buy  or 
steal  such,  and  by  forethought  sew  and  button  them. 


AD  AMITISM 


45 


CHAP.  IX.] 

‘For  my  own  part,  these  considerations,  of  our  Clothes- 
thatch,  and  how,  reaching  inwards  even  to  our  heart  of  hearts, 
it  tailorises  and  demoralises  us,  fill  me  with  a certain  horror 
at  myself  and  mankind ; almost  as  one  feels  at  those  Dutch 
Cows,  which,  during  the  wet  season,  you  see  grazing  deliber- 
ately with  jackets  and  petticoats  (of  striped  sacking),  in  the 
meadows  of  Gouda.  Nevertheless  there  is  something  great  in 
the  moment  when  a man  first  strips  himself  of  adventitious 
wrappages ; and  sees  indeed  that  he  is  naked,  and,  as  Swift 
has  it,  “ a forked  straddling  animal  with  bandy  legs  ” ; yet 
also  a Spirit,  and  unutterable  Mystery  of  Mysteries.’ 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ADAMITISM. 

The  universal  utility  of  Clothes,  and  their  higher  mystic  virtue,  illustrated. 

Conception  of  Mankind  stripped  naked ; and  immediate  consequent  dis- 
solution of  civilised  Society. 

Let  no  courteous  reader  take  offence  at  the  opinions 
broached  in  the  conclusion  of  the  last  Chapter.  The  Editor 
himself,  on  first  glancing  over  that  singular  passage,  was 
inclined  to  exclaim  : What,  have  we  got  not  only  a Sanscu- 
lottist,  but  an  enemy  to  Clothes  in  the  abstract  ? A new 
Adamite,  in  this  century,  which  flatters  itself  that  it  is  the 
Nineteenth,  and  destructive  both  to  Superstition  and  Enthu- 
siasm ? 

Consider,  thou  foolish  Teufelsdrockh,  what  benefits  un- 
speakable all  ages  and  sexes  derive  from  Clothes.  For 
example,  when  thou  thyself,  a watery,  pulpy,  slobbery  fresh- 
man and  new-comer  in  this  Planet,  sattest  muling  and  puking 
in  thy  nurse’s  arms ; sucking  thy  coral,  and  looking  forth  into 
the  world  in  the  blankest  manner,  what  hadst  thou  been 
without  thy  blankets,  and  bibs,  and  other  nameless  hulls  ? 
A terror  to  thyself  and  mankind  ! Or  hast  thou  forgotten 


46 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  i. 

the  day  when  thou  first  receivedst  breeches,  and  thy  long 
clothes  became  short  ? The  village  where  thou  livedst  was 
all  apprised  of  the  fact ; and  neighbour  after  neighbour  kissed 
thy  pudding-cheek,  and  gave  thee,  as  handsel,  silver  or  copper 
coins,  on  that  the  first  gala-day  of  thy  existence.  Again, 
wert  not  thou,  at  one  period  of  life,  a Buck,  or  Blood,  or 
Macaroni,  or  Incroyable,  or  Dandy,  or  by  whatever  name, 
according  to  year  and  place,  such  phenomenon  is  distinguished? 
In  that  one  word  lie  included  mysterious  volumes.  Nay,  now 
when  the  reign  of  folly  is  over,  or  altered,  and  thy  clothes  are 
not  for  triumph  but  for  defence,  hast  thou  always  worn  them 
perforce,  and  as  a consequence  of  Man’s  Fall ; never  rejoiced 
in  them  as  in  a warm  movable  House,  a Body  round  thy 
Body,  wherein  that  strange  Thee  of  thine  sat  snug,  defying 
all  variations  of  Climate?  Girt  with  thick  double-milled 
kerseys ; half-buried  under  shawls  and  broadbrims,  and  over- 
alls and  mud-boots,  thy  very  fingers  cased  in  doeskin  and 
mittens,  thou  hast  bestrode  that  ‘Horse  I ride1;  and,  though 
it  were  in  wild  winter,  dashed  through  the  world,  glorying  in 
it  as  if  thou  wert  its  lord.  In  vain  did  the  sleet  beat  round 
thy  temples ; it  lighted  only  on  thy  impenetrable,  felted  or 
woven,  case  of  wool.  In  vain  did  the  winds  howl, — forests 
sounding  and  creaking,  deep  calling  unto  deep, — and  the 
storms  heap  themselves  together  into  one  huge  Arctic  whirl- 
pool : thou  flewest  through  the  middle  thereof,  striking  fire 
from  the  highway ; wild  music  hummed  in  thy  ears,  thou  too 
wert  as  a ‘sailor  of  the  air’;  the  wreck  of  matter  and  the 
crash  of  worlds  was  thy  element  and  propitiously  wafting  tide. 
Without  Clothes,  without  bit  or  saddle,  what  hadst  thou 
been  ; what  had  thy  fleet  quadruped  been  ? — Nature  is  good, 
but  she  is  not  the  best : here  truly  was  the  victory  of  Art 
over  Nature.  A thunderbolt  indeed  might  have  pierced  thee  ; 
all  short  of  this  thou  couldst  defy. 

Or,  cries  the  courteous  reader,  has  your  Teufelsdrockh  for- 
gotten what  he  said  lately  about  ‘Aboriginal  Savages,’  and 
their  ‘ condition  miserable  indeed ’?  Would  he  have  all  this 


ADAMITISM 


CHAP.  IX.] 


47 


unsaid ; and  us  betake  ourselves  again  to  the  i matted  cloak,’ 
and  go  sheeted  in  a £ thick  natural  fell  ’ ? 

Nowise,  courteous  reader ! The  Professor  knows  full  well 
what  he  is  saying ; and  both  thou  and  we,  in  our  haste,  do 
him  wrong.  If  Clothes,  in  these  times,  ‘ so  tailorise  and 
demoralise  us,’  have  they  no  redeeming  value ; can  they  not 
be  altered  to  serve  better ; must  they  of  necessity  be  thrown 
to  the  dogs  ? The  truth  is,  Teufelsdrockh,  though  a Sanscu- 
lottist,  is  no  Adamite ; and  much  perhaps  as  he  might  wish 
to  go  forth  before  this  degenerate  age  ‘ as  a Sign,’  would 
nowise  wish  to  do  it,  as  those  old  Adamites  did,  in  a state  of 
Nakedness.  The  utility  of  Clothes  is  altogether  apparent  to 
him  : nay  perhaps  he  has  an  insight  into  their  more  recondite, 
and  almost  mystic  qualities,  what  we  might  call  the  omnipo- 
tent virtue  of  Clothes,  such  as  was  never  before  vouchsafed 
to  any  man.  For  example  : 

‘ You  see  two  individuals,’  he  writes,  ‘ one  dressed  in  fine 
Red,  the  other  in  coarse  threadbare  Blue : Red  says  to  Blue, 
“ Be  hanged  and  anatomised  ” ; Blue  hears  with  a shudder, 
and  (0  wonder  of  wonders !)  marches  sorrowfully  to  the 
gallows ; is  there  noosed-up,  vibrates  his  hour,  and  the 
surgeons  dissect  him,  and  fit  his  bones  into  a skeleton  for 
medical  purposes.  How  is  this ; or  what  make  ye  of  your 
Nothing  can  act  hut  where  it  is  ? Red  has  no  physical  hold 
of  Blue,  no  clutch  of  him,  is  nowise  in  contact  with  him  : 
neither  are  those  ministering  Sheriffs  and  Lord-Lieutenants 
and  Hangmen  and  Tipstaves  so  related  to  commanding  Red, 
that  he  can  tug  them  hither  and  thither ; but  each  stands 
distinct  within  his  own  skin.  Nevertheless,  as  it  is  spoken,  so 
is  it  done  : the  articulated  Word  sets  all  hands  in  Action ; 
and  Rope  and  Improved-drop  perform  their  work. 

‘ Thinking  reader,  the  reason  seems  to  me  twofold  : First, 
that  Man  is  a Spirit,  and  bound  by  invisible  bonds  to  All 
Men ; secondly,  that  he  wears  Clothes,  which  are  the  visible 
emblems  of  that  fact.  Has  not  your  Red  hanging-individual 
a horsehair  wig,  squirrel-skins,  and  a plush-gown ; whereby  all 


48 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  i. 

mortals  know  that  he  is  a Judge  ? — Society,  which  the  more  I 
think  of  it  astonishes  me  the  more,  is  founded  upon  Cloth. 

‘ Often  in  my  atrabiliar  moods,  when  I read  of  pompous 
ceremonials,  Frankfort  Coronations,  Royal  Drawing-rooms, 
Levees,  Couchees  ; and  how  the  ushers  and  macers  and  pur- 
suivants are  all  in  waiting ; how  Duke  this  is  presented  by 
Archduke  that,  and  Colonel  A by  General  B,  and  innumer- 
able Bishops,  Admirals,  and  miscellaneous  Functionaries,  are 
advancing  gallantly  to  the  Anointed  Presence  ; and  I strive,  in 
my  remote  privacy,  to  form  a clear  picture  of  that  solemnity, 
— on  a sudden,  as  by  some  enchanter’s  wand,  the — shall  I 
speak  it  ? — the  Clothes  fly-off  the  whole  dramatic  corps  ; and 
Dukes,  Grandees,  Bishops,  Generals,  Anointed  Presence  itself, 
every  mother’s  son  of  them,  stand  straddling  there,  not  a shirt 
on  them ; and  I know  not  whether  to  laugh  or  weep.  This 
physical  or  psychical  infirmity,  in  which  perhaps  I am  not 
singular,  I have,  after  hesitation,  thought  right  to  publish, 
for  the  solace  of  those  afflicted  with  the  like.’ 

Would  to  Heaven,  say  we,  thou  hadst  thought  right  to 
keep  it  secret ! "Who  is  there  now  that  can  read  the  five 
columns  of  Presentations  in  his  Morning  Newspaper  without  a 
shudder  ? Hypochondriac  men,  and  all  men  are  to  a certain 
extent  hypochondriac,  should  be  more  gently  treated.  With 
what  readiness  our  fancy,  in  this  shattered  state  of  the  nerves, 
follows  out  the  consequences  which  Teufelsdrockh,  with  a 
devilish  coolness,  goes  on  to  draw : 

4 What  would  Majesty  do,  could  such  an  accident  befall  in 
reality ; should  the  buttons  all  simultaneously  start,  and  the 
solid  wool  evaporate,  in  very  Deed,  as  here  in  Dream  ? Ach 
Gott ! How  each  skulks  into  the  nearest  hiding-place  ; their 
high  State  Tragedy  ( Haupt - und  Staats-Action ) becomes  a 
Pickleherring-Farce  to  weep  at,  which  is  the  worst  kind  of 
Farce ; the  tables  (according  to  Horace),  and  with  them,  the 
whole  fabric  of  Government,  Legislation,  Property,  Police, 
and  Civilized  Society,  are  dissolved , in  wails  and  howls.’ 

Lives  the  man  that  can  figure  a naked  Duke  of  Windle- 


ADAMITISM 


49 


CHAP.  IX.] 

straw  addressing  a naked  House  of  Lords  ? Imagination, 
choked  as  in  mephitic  air,  recoils  on  itself,  and  will  not 
forward  with  the  picture.  The  Woolsack,  the  Ministerial, 
the  Opposition  Benches — infandum ! infandum ! And  yet 
why  is  the  thing  impossible  ? Was  not  every  soul,  or  rather 
every  body,  of  these  Guardians  of  our  Liberties,  naked,  or 
nearly  so,  last  night ; ‘ a forked  Radish  with  a head  fantasti- 
cally carved 1 ? And  why  might  he  not,  did  our  stern  fate  so 
order  it,  walk  out  to  St.  Stephen’s,  as  well  as  into  bed,  in 
that  no-fashion ; and  there,  with  other  similar  Radishes,  hold 
a Bed  of  Justice  ? 4 Solace  of  those  afflicted  with  the  like  ! ’ 

Unhappy  Teufelsdrockh,  had  man  ever  such  a 4 physical  or 
psychical  infirmity  ’ before  ? And  now  how  many,  perhaps, 
may  thy  unparalleled  confession  (which  we,  even  to  the 
sounder  British  world,  and  goaded-on  by  Critical  and  Bio- 
graphical duty,  grudge  to  reimpart)  incurably  infect  there- 
with ! Art  thou  the  malignest  of  Sansculottists,  or  only  the 
maddest  ? 

4 It  will  remain  to  be  examined,’  adds  the  inexorable 
Teufelsdrockh,  4 in  how  far  the  Scarecrow,  as  a Clothed 
Person,  is  not  also  entitled  to  benefit  of  clergy,  and  English 
trial  by  jury  : nay  perhaps,  considering  his  high  function  (for 
is  not  he  too  a Defender  of  Property,  and  Sovereign  armed 
with  the  terrors  of  the  Law  ?),  to  a certain  royal  Immunity 
and  Inviolability ; which,  however,  misers  and  the  meaner 
class  of  persons  are  not  always  voluntarily  disposed  to  grant 
him.’  * * * 4 O my  friends,  we  are  (in  Yorick 

Sterne’s  words)  but  as  44  turkeys  driven,  with  a stick  and  red 
clout,  to  the  market  ” : or  if  some  drivers,  as  they  do  in 
Norfolk,  take  a dried  bladder  and  put  peas  in  it,  the  rattle 
thereof  terrifies  the  boldest ! ’ 


D 


50 


SA11TOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 


CHAPTER  X 

PURE  REASON 

A Naked  World  possible,  nay  actually  exists,  under  the  clothed  one.  Man, 
in  the  eye  of  Pure  Reason,  a visible  God’s  Presence.  The  beginning  of  all 
wisdom,  to  look  fixedly  on  Clothes  till  they  become  transparent.  Wonder, 
the  basis  of  Worship  : Perennial  in  man.  Modern  Sciolists  who  cannot 
wonder  : Teufelsdrockh’s  contempt  for,  and  advice  to  them. 

It  must  now  be  apparent  enough  that  our  Professor,  as  above 
hinted,  is  a speculative  Radical,  and  of  the  very  darkest  tinge  ; 
acknowledging,  for  most  part,  in  the  solemnities  and  parapher- 
nalia of  civilised  Life,  which  we  make  so  much  of,  nothing 
but  so  many  Cloth-rags,  turkey-poles,  and  4 bladders  with 
dried  peas.’  To  linger  among  such  speculations,  longer  than 
mere  Science  requires,  a discerning  public  can  have  no  wish. 
For  our  purposes  the  simple  fact  that  such  a Naked  World  is 
possible,  nay  actually  exists  (under  the  Clothed  one),  will  be 
sufficient.  Much,  therefore,  we  omit  about  4 Kings  wrestling 
naked  on  the  green  with  Carmen,1  and  the  Kings  being 
thrown  : 4 dissect  them  with  scalpels,1  says  Teufelsdrockh  ; 4 the 
same  viscera,  tissues,  livers,  lights,  and  other  life-tackle,  are 
there : examine  their  spiritual  mechanism  ; the  same  great 
Need,  great  Greed,  and  little  Faculty ; nay  ten  to  one  but 
the  Carman,  who  understands  draught-cattle,  the  rimming  of 
wheels,  something  of  the  laws  of  unstable  and  stable  equili- 
brium, with  other  branches  of  wagon-science,  and  has  actually 
put  forth  his  hand  and  operated  on  Nature,  is  the  more 
cunningly  gifted  of  the  two.  Whence,  then,  their  so  un- 
speakable difference  ? From  Clothes.1  Much  also  we  shall 
omit  about  confusion  of  Ranks,  and  Joan  and  My  Lady,  and 
how  it  would  be  everywhere  4 Hail  fellow  well  met,1  and  Chaos 
were  come  again  : all  which  to  any  one  that  has  once  fairly 
pictured-out  the  grand  mother-idea,  Society  in  a state  of 
Nakedness,  will  spontaneously  suggest  itself.  Should  some 
sceptical  individual  still  entertain  doubts  whether  in  a world 


PURE  REASON 


51 


CHAP.  X.] 

without  Clothes,  the  smallest  Politeness,  Polity,  or  even  Police, 
could  exist,  let  him  turn  to  the  original  Volume,  and  view 
there  the  boundless  Serbonian  Bog  of  Sansculottism,  stretching 
sour  and  pestilential : over  which  we  have  lightly  flown  ; 
where  not  only  whole  armies  but  whole  nations  might  sink  ! 
If  indeed  the  following  argument,  in  its  brief  riveting 
emphasis,  be  not  of  itself  incontrovertible  and  final : 

4 Are  we  Opossums  ; have  we  natural  Pouches,  like  the 
Kangaroo  ? Or  how,  without  Clothes,  could  we  possess  the 
master-organ,  soul’s  seat,  and  true  pineal  gland  of  the  Body 
Social : I mean,  a Purse  ? ’ 

Nevertheless  it  is  impossible  to  hate  Professor  Teufels- 
drockh ; at  worst,  one  knows  not  whether  to  hate  or  to  love 
him.  For  though,  in  looking  at  the  fair  tapestry  of  human 
Life,  with  its  royal  and  even  sacred  figures,  he  dwells  not  on 
the  obverse  alone,  but  here  chiefly  on  the  reverse ; and  indeed 
turns  out  the  rough  seams,  tatters,  and  manifold  thrums  of 
that  unsightly  wrong-side,  with  an  almost  diabolic  patience 
and  indifference,  which  must  have  sunk  him  in  the  estimation 
of  most  readers, — there  is  that  within  which  unspeakably 
distinguishes  him  from  all  other  past  and  present  Sanscu- 
lottists.  The  grand  unparalleled  peculiarity  of  Teufelsdrockh 
is,  that  'with  all  this  Descendentalism,  he  combines  a Trans- 
cendentalism, no  less  superlative ; whereby  if  on  the  one  hand 
he  degrade  man  below  most  animals,  except  those  jacketed 
Gouda  Cows,  he,  on  the  other,  exalts  him  beyond  the  visible 
Heavens,  almost  to  an  equality  with  the  Gods. 

‘ To  the  eye  of  vulgar  Logic,’  says  he,  4 what  is  man  ? An 
omnivorous  Biped  that  wears  Breeches.  To  the  eye  of  Pure 
Reason  what  is  he  ? A Soul,  a Spirit,  and  divine  Apparition. 
Round  his  mysterious  Me,  there  lies,  under  all  those  wool- 
rags,  a Garment  of  Flesh  (or  of  Senses),  contextured  in  the 
Loom  of  Heaven ; whereby  he  is  revealed  to  his  like,  and 
dwells  with  them  in  Union  and  Division  ; and  sees  and 
fashions  for  himself  a Universe,  with  azure  Starry  Spaces,  and 
long  Thousands  of  Years.  Deep-hidden  is  he  under  that 


52 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

strange  Garment ; amid  Sounds  and  Colours  and  Forms,  as  it 
were,  swathed-in,  and  inextricably  over-shrouded : yet  it  is 
sky-woven,  and  worthy  of  a God.  Stands  he  not  thereby  in 
the  centre  of  Immensities,  in  the  conflux  of  Eternities  ? He 
feels  ; power  has  been  given  him  to  know,  to  believe ; nay 
does  not  the  spirit  of  Love,  free  in  its  celestial  primeval 
brightness,  even  here,  though  but  for  moments,  look  through  ? 
Well  said  Saint  Chrysostom,  with  his  lips  of  gold,  “ the  true 
Shekinah  is  Man  ” : where  else  is  the  God’s-Pkesence  mani- 
fested not  to  our  eyes  only,  but  to  our  hearts,  as  in  our 
fellow-man  ? 1 

In  such  passages,  unhappily  too  rare,  the  high  Platonic 
Mysticism  of  our  Author,  which  is  perhaps  the  fundamental 
element  of  his  nature,  bursts  forth,  as  it  were,  in  full  flood  : 
and,  through  all  the  vapour  and  tarnish  of  what  is  often  so 
perverse,  so  mean  in  his  exterior  and  environment,  we  seem  to 
look  into  a whole  inward  Sea  of  Light  and  Love ; — though, 
alas,  the  grim  coppery  clouds  soon  roll  together  again,  and 
hide  it  from  view. 

Such  tendency  to  Mysticism  is  everywhere  traceable  in  this 
man ; and  indeed,  to  attentive  readers,  must  have  been  long 
ago  apparent.  Nothing  that  he  sees  but  has  more  than  a 
common  meaning,  but  has  two  meanings  : thus,  if  in  the 
highest  Imperial  Sceptre  and  Charlemagne-Mantle,  as  well  as 
in  the  poorest  Ox-goad  and  Gipsy-Blanket,  he  finds  Prose, 
Decay,  Contemptibility ; there  is  in  each  sort  Poetry  also,  and 
a reverend  Worth.  For  Matter,  were  it  never  so  despicable, 
is  Spirit,  the  manifestation  of  Spirit : were  it  never  so 
honourable,  can  it  be  more  ? The  thing  Visible,  nay  the 
thing  Imagined,  the  thing  in  any  way  conceived  as  Visible, 
what  is  it  but  a Garment,  a Clothing  of  the  higher,  celestial 
Invisible,  4 unimaginable,  formless,  dark  with  excess  of  bright’? 
Under  which  point  of  view  the  following  passage,  so  strange 
in  purport,  so  strange  in  phrase,  seems  characteristic  enough  : 

4 The  beginning  of  all  Wisdom  is  to  look  fixedly  on  Clothes, 
or  even  with  armed  eyesight,  till  they  become  transparent. 


PURE  REASON 


53 


CHAP.  X.] 

“ The  Philosopher,”  says  the  wisest  of  this  age,  “ must  station 
himself  in  the  middle  ” : how  true  ! The  Philosopher  is  he 
to  whom  the  Highest  has  descended,  and  the  Lowest  has 
mounted  up  ; who  is  the  equal  and  kindly  brother  of  all. 

‘ Shall  we  tremble  before  clothwebs  and  cobwebs,  whether 
woven  in  Arkwright  looms,  or  by  the  silent  Arachnes  that 
weave  unrestingly  in  our  imagination  ? Or,  on  the  other  hand, 
what  is  there  that  we  cannot  love  ; since  all  was  created  by 
God? 

‘Happy  he  who  can  look  through  the  Clothes  of  a Man  (the 
woollen,  and  fleshly,  and  official  Bank-paper  and  State-paper 
Clothes)  into  the  Man  himself ; and  discern,  it  may  be,  in 
this  or  the  other  Dread  Potentate,  a more  or  less  incom- 
petent Digestive-appai’atus  ; yet  also  an  inscrutable  venerable 
Mystery,  in  the  meanest  Tinker  that  sees  with  eyes  ! 1 

For  the  rest,  as  is  natural  to  a man  of  this  kind,  he  deals 
much  in  the  feeling  of  Wonder ; insists  on  the  necessity  and 
high  worth  of  universal  Wonder ; which  he  holds  to  be  the 
only  reasonable  temper  for  the  denizen  of  so  singular  a 
Planet  as  ours.  ‘ Wonder,’  says  he,  ‘ is  the  basis  of  Worship: 
the  reign  of  wonder  is  perennial,  indestructible  in  Man  ; only 
at  certain  stages  (as  the  present),  it  is,  for  some  short  season, 
a reign  in  partibus  mfidelium?  That  progress  of  Science,  which 
is  to  destroy  Wonder,  and  in  its  stead  substitute  Mensura- 
tion and  Numeration,  finds  small  favour  with  Teufelsdrockh, 
much  as  he  otherwise  venerates  these  two  latter  processes. 

‘ Shall  your  Science,’  exclaims  he,  ‘ proceed  in  the  small 
chink-lighted,  or  even  oil-lighted,  underground  workshop  of 
Logic  alone ; and  man’s  mind  become  an  Arithmetical  Mill, 
whereof  Memory  is  the  Hopper,  and  mere  Tables  of  Sines 
and  Tangents,  Codification,  and  Treatises  of  what  you  call 
Political  Economy,  are  the  Meal  ? And  what  is  that  Science, 
which  the  scientific  head  alone,  were  it  screwed  off,  and  (like 
the  Doctor’s  in  the  Arabian  Tale)  set  in  a basin  to  keep  it 
alive,  could  prosecute  without  shadow  of  a heart, — but  one 
other  of  the  mechanical  and  menial  handicrafts,  for  which  the 


54 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

Scientific  Head  (having  a Soul  in  it)  is  too  noble  an  organ  ? 
I mean  that  Thought  without  Reverence  is  barren,  perhaps 
poisonous ; at  best,  dies  like  cookery  with  the  day  that  called 
it  forth ; does  not  live,  like  sowing,  in  successive  tilths  and 
wider-spreading  harvests,  bringing  food  and  plenteous  increase 
to  all  Time.1 

In  such  wise  does  Teufelsdrockh  deal  hits,  harder  or  softer, 
according  to  ability ; yet  ever,  as  we  would  fain  persuade 
ourselves,  with  charitable  intent.  Above  all,  that  class  of 
£ Logic-choppers,  and  treble-pipe  Scoffers,  and  professed 
Enemies  to  Wonder ; who,  in  these  days,  so  numerously 
patrol  as  night-constables  about  the  Mechanics1  Institute  of 
Science,  and  cackle  like  true  Old-Roman  geese  and  goslings 
round  their  Capitol,  on  any  alarm,  or  on  none ; nay  who 
often,  as  illuminated  Sceptics,  walk  abroad  into  peaceable 
society,  in  full  daylight,  with  rattle  and  lantern,  and  insist 
on  guiding  you  and  guarding  you  therewith,  though  the  Sun 
is  shining,  and  the  street  populous  with  mere  justice-loving 
men  : 1 that  whole  class  is  inexpressibly  wearisome  to  him. 
Hear  with  what  uncommon  animation  he  perorates  : 

‘ The  man  who  cannot  wonder,  who  does  not  habitually 
wonder  (and  worship),  were  he  President  of  innumerable  Royal 
Societies,  and  carried  the  whole  Mecanique  Celeste  and  HegeTs 
Philosophy , and  the  epitome  of  all  Laboratories  and  Ob- 
servatories with  their  results,  in  his  single  head, — is  but  a 
Pair  of  Spectacles  behind  which  there  is  no  Eye.  Let  those 
who  have  Eyes  look  through  him,  then  he  may  be  useful. 

‘ Thou  wilt  have  no  Mystery  and  Mysticism  ; wilt  walk 
through  thy  world  by  the  sunshine  of  what  thou  callest  Truth, 
or  even  by  the  hand-lamp  of  what  I call  Attorney-Logic ; and 
“ explain11  all,  “ account11  for  all,  or  believe  nothing  of  it  ? Nay, 
thou  wilt  attempt  laughter ; whoso  recognises  the  unfathom- 
able, all-pervading  domain  of  Mystery,  which  is  everywhere 
under  our  feet  and  among  our  hands ; to  whom  the  Universe 
is  an  Oracle  and  Temple,  as  well  as  a Kitchen  and  Cattle- 
stall, — he  shall  be  a delirious  Mystic ; to  him  thou,  with 


PROSPECTIVE 


55 


CHAP.  XI.] 

sniffing  charity,  wilt  protrusively  proffer  thy  hand-lamp,  and 
shriek,  as  one  injured,  when  he  kicks  his  foot  through  it  ? — 
Armer  Teufel ! Doth  not  thy  cow  calve,  doth  not  thy  bull 
gender  ? Thou  thyself,  wert  thou  not  born,  wilt  thou  not 
die  ? “ Explain 11  me  all  this,  or  do  one  of  two  things  : Retire 

into  private  places  with  thy  foolish  cackle ; or,  what  were 
better,  give  it  up,  and  weep,  not  that  the  reign  of  wonder  is 
done,  and  God’s  world  all  disembellished  and  prosaic,  but  that 
thou  hitherto  art  a Dilettante  and  sandblind  Pedant.’ 


CHAPTER  XI 
PROSPECTIVE 

Nature  not  an  Aggregate,  but  a Whole.  All  visible  things  are  emblems, 
Clothes  ; and  exist  for  a time  only.  The  grand  scope  of  the  Philosophy  of 
Clothes. — Biographic  Documents  arrive.  Letter  from  Heuschrecke  on  the 
importance  of  Biography.  Heterogeneous  character  of  the  documents : 
Editor  sorely  perplexed ; but  desperately  grapples  with  his  work. 

The  Philosophy  of  Clothes  is  now  to  all  readers,  as  we  pre- 
dicted it  would  do,  unfolding  itself  into  new  boundless 
expansions,  of  a cloudcapt,  almost  chimerical  aspect,  yet  not 
without  azure  loomings  in  the  far  distance,  and  streaks  as  of 
an  Elysian  brightness ; the  highly  questionable  purport  and 
promise  of  which  it  is  becoming  more  and  more  important  for 
us  to  ascertain.  Is  that  a real  Elysian  brightness,  cries  many 
a timid  wayfarer,  or  the  reflex  of  Pandemonian  lava  ? Is  it 
of  a truth  leading  us  into  beatific  Asphodel  meadows,  or  the 
yellow-burning  marl  of  a Hell-on-Earth  ? 

Our  Professor,  like  other  Mystics,  whether  delirious  or 
inspired,  gives  an  Editor  enough  to  do.  Ever  higher  and 
dizzier  are  the  heights  he  leads  us  to ; more  piercing,  all- 
comprehending,  all-confounding  are  his  views  and  glances. 
For  example,  this  of  Nature  being  not  an  Aggregate  but  a 
Whole  : 

‘ Well  sang  the  Hebrew  Psalmist : “ If  I take  the  wings  of 


56 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

the  morning  and  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  universe, 
God  is  there.”  Thou  thyself,  O cultivated  reader,  who  too 
probably  art  no  Psalmist,  but  a Prosaist,  knowing  God  only 
by  tradition,  knowest  thou  any  corner  of  the  world  where  at 
least  Force  is  not  ? The  drop  which  thou  shakest  from  thy 
wet  hand,  rests  not  where  it  falls,  but  tomorrow  thou  findest 
it  swept  away ; already  on  the  wings  of  the  Northwind,  it  is 
nearing  the  Tropic  of  Cancer.  How  came  it  to  evaporate, 
and  not  lie  motionless  ? Thinkest  thou  there  is  ought 
motionless  ; without  Force,  and  utterly  dead  ? 

‘ As  I rode  through  the  Schwarzwald,  I said  to  myself : That 
little  fire  which  glows  star-like  across  the  dark-growing  ( nach - 
tende)  moor,  where  the  sooty  smith  bends  over  his  anvil,  and 
thou  hopest  to  replace  thy  lost  horse-shoe, — is  it  a detached, 
separated  speck,  cut-off  from  the  whole  Universe ; or  indis- 
solubly joined  to  the  whole  ? Thou  fool,  that  smithy-fire  was 
(primarily)  kindled  at  the  Sun  ; is  fed  by  air  that  circulates 
from  before  Noah’s  Deluge,  from  beyond  the  Dogstar  ; therein, 
with  Iron  Force,  and  Coal  Force,  and  the  far  stranger  Force 
of  Man,  are  cunning  affinities  and  battles  and  victories  of 
Force  brought  about ; it  is  a little  ganglion,  or  nervous 
centre,  in  the  great  vital  system  of  Immensity.  Call  it,  if 
thou  wilt,  an  unconscious  Altar,  kindled  on  the  bosom  of  the 
All ; whose  iron  sacrifice,  whose  iron  smoke  and  influence 
reach  quite  through  the  All ; whose  dingy  Priest,  not  by  word, 
yet  by  brain  and  sinew,  preaches  forth  the  mystery  of  Force ; 
nay  preaches  forth  (exoterically  enough)  one  little  textlet  from 
the  Gospel  of  Freedom,  the  Gospel  of  Man’s  Force,  command- 
ing, and  one  day  to  be  all-commanding. 

F £ Detached,  separated  ! I say  there  is  no  such  separation  : 
( nothing  hitherto  was  ever  stranded,  cast  aside ; but  all,  were 
v it  only  a withered  leaf,  works  together  with  all ; is  borne 
forward  on  the  bottomless,  shoreless  flood  of  Action,  and 
lives  through  perpetual  metamorphoses.  The  withered  leaf 
is  not  dead  and  lost,  there  are  Forces  in  it  and  around  it, 
though  working  in  inverse  order ; else  how  could  it  rot  P 


PROSPECTIVE 


57 


CHAP.  XI.] 

Despise  not  the  rag  from  which  man  makes  Paper,  or  the 
litter  from  which  the  earth  makes  Corn.  Rightly  viewed 
no  meanest  object  is  insignificant ; all  objects  are  as  windows, 
through  which  the  philosophic  eye  looks  into  Infinitude  itself.1 

Again,  leaving  that  wondrous  Schwarzwald  Smithy-Altar, 
what  vacant,  high-sailing  air-ships  are  these,  and  whither  will 
they  sail  with  us  ? 

‘ All  visible  things  are  emblems ; what  thou  seest  is  not 
there  on  its  own  account ; strictly  taken,  is  not  there  at  all : 
Matter  exists  only  spiritually,  and  to  represent  some  Idea, 
and  body  it  forth.  Hence  Clothes,  as  despicable  as  we  think 
them,  are  so  unspeakably  significant.  Clothes,  from  the 
King’s  mantle  downwards,  are  emblematic,  nor  of  want  only, 
but  of  a manifold  cunning  Victory  over  Want.  On  the  other 
hand,  all  Emblematic  things  are  properly  Clothes,  thought- 
woven  or  hand-woven : must  not  the  Imagination  weave 
Garments,  visible  Bodies,  wherein  the  else  invisible  creations 
and  inspirations  of  our  Reason  are,  like  Spirits,  revealed,  and 
first  become  all-powerful ; — -the  rather  if,  as  we  often  see, 
the  Hand  too  aid  her,  and  (by  wool  Clothes  or  otherwise) 
reveal  such  even  to  the  outward  eye  ? 

‘Men  are  properly  said  to  be  clothed  with  Authority, 
clothed  with  Beauty,  with  Curses,  and  the  like.  Nay,  if  you 
consider  it,  what  is  Man  himself,  and  his  whole  terrestrial 
Life,  but  an  Emblem ; a Clothing  or  visible  Garment  for 
that  divine  Me  of  his,  cast  hither,  like  a light-particle,  down 
from  Heaven  ? Thus  is  he  said  also  to  be  clothed  with  a 
Body. 

‘ Language  is  called  the  Garment  of  Thought : however,  it 
should  rather  be,  Language  is  the  Flesh-Garment,  the  Body, 
of  Thought.  I said  that  Imagination  wove  this  Flesh- 
Garment  ; and  does  not  she  ? Metaphors  are  her  stuff : 
examine  Language ; what,  if  you  except  some  few  primitive 
elements  (of  natural  sound),  what  is  it  all  but  Metaphors, 
recognised  as  such,  or  no  longer  recognised ; still  fluid  and 
florid,  or  now  solid-grown  and  colourless  p If  those  same 


58 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

primitive  elements  are  the  osseous  fixtures  in  the  Flesh- 
Garment,  Language, — then  are  Metaphors  its  muscles  and 
tissues  and  living  integuments.  An  unmetaphorical  style 
you  shall  in  vain  seek  for:  is  not  your  very  Attention  a 
Stretching-to  ? The  difference  lies  here  : some  styles  are  lean, 
adust,  wiry,  the  muscle  itself  seems  osseous ; some  are  even 
quite  pallid,  hunger-bitten  and  dead-looking ; while  others 
again  glow  in  the  flush  of  health  and  vigorous  self-growth, 
sometimes  (as  in  my  own  case)  not  without  an  apoplectic 
tendency.  Moreover,  there  are  sham  Metaphors,  which  over- 
hanging that  same  Thought’s-Body  (best  naked),  and  decep- 
tively bedizening,  or  bolstering  it  out,  may  be  called  its  false 
stuffings,  superfluous  show-cloaks  (Putz- Mantel),  and  tawdry 
woollen  rags  : whereof  he  that  runs  and  reads  may  gather 
whole  hampers, — and  burn  them.’ 

Than  which  paragraph  on  Metaphors  did  the  reader  ever 
chance  to  see  a more  surprisingly  metaphorical  ? However, 
that  is  not  our  chief  grievance ; the  Professor  continues  : 

4 Why  multiply  instances  ? It  is  written,  the  Heavens  and 
the  Earth  shall  fade  away  like  a Vesture ; which  indeed  they 
are  : the  Time-vesture  of  the  Eternal.  Whatsoever  sensibly 
exists,  whatsoever  represents  Spirit  to  Spirit,  is  properly  a 
Clothing,  a suit  of  Raiment,  put  on  for  a season,  and  to  be 
laid  off.  Thus  in  this  one  pregnant  subject  of  Clothes, 
rightly  understood,  is  included  all  that  men  have  thought, 
dreamed,  done,  and  been  : the  whole  External  Universe  and 
what  it  holds  is  but  Clothing ; and  the  essence  of  all  Science 
lies  in  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes.’ 

Towards  these  dim  infinitely-expanded  regions,  close-border- 
ing on  the  impalpable  Inane,  it  is  not  without  apprehension, 
and  perpetual  difficulties,  that  the  Editor  sees  himself 
journeying  and  struggling.  Till  lately  a cheerful  daystar  of 
hope  hung  before  him,  in  the  expected  Aid  of  Hofrath 
Heuschrecke ; which  daystar,  however,  melts  now,  not  into 
the  red  of  morning,  but  into  a vague,  gray  half-light,  uncer- 
tain whether  dawn  of  day  or  dusk  of  utter  darkness.  For 


PROSPECTIVE 


59 


CHAP.  XI.] 

the  last  week,  these  so-called  Biographical  Documents  are  in 
his  hand.  By  the  kindness  of  a Scottish  Hamburg  Merchant, 
whose  name,  known  to  the  whole  mercantile  world,  he  must 
not  mention ; but  whose  honourable  courtesy,  now  and  often 
before  spontaneously  manifested  to  him,  a mere  literary 
stranger,  he  cannot  soon  forget, — the  bulky  Weissnichtwo 
Packet,  with  all  its  Customhouse  seals,  foreign  hieroglyphs, 
and  miscellaneous  tokens  of  Travel,  arrived  here  in  perfect 
safety,  and  free  of  cost.  The  reader  shall  now  fancy  with 
what  hot  haste  it  was  broken  up,  with  what  breathless  expec- 
tation glanced  over ; and,  alas,  with  what  unquiet  disappoint- 
ment it  has,  since  then,  been  often  thrown  down,  and  again 
taken  up. 

Hofrath  Heuschrecke,  in  a too  long-winded  Letter,  full  of 
compliments,  Weissnichtwo  politics,  dinners,  dining  repartees, 
and  other  ephemeral  trivialities,  proceeds  to  remind  us  of 
what  we  knew  well  already  : that  however  it  may  be  with 
Metaphysics,  and  other  abstract  Science  originating  in  the 
Head  (Ver stand)  alone,  no  Life-Philosophy  (Lebensphilosophie), 
such  as  this  of  Clothes  pretends  to  be,  which  originates 
equally  in  the  Character  ( Gemiith ),  and  equally  speaks  thereto, 
can  attain  its  significance  till  the  Character  itself  is  known 
and  seen  ; ‘till  the  Author’s  View  of  the  World  ( Weltansicht ), 
and  how  he  actively  and  passively  came  by  such  view,  are 
clear  : in  short  till  a Biography  of  him  has  been  philosophico- 
poetically  written,  and  philosophico-poetically  read.1  ‘ Nay,1 
adds  he,  ‘ were  the  speculative  scientific  Truth  even  known, 
you  still,  in  this  inquiring  age,  ask  yourself,  Whence  came  it, 
and  Why,  and  How  ? — and  rest  not,  till,  if  no  better  may  be, 
Fancy  have  shaped-out  an  answer  ; and  either  in  the  authentic 
lineaments  of  Fact,  or  the  forged  ones  of  Fiction,  a complete 
picture  and  Genetical  History  of  the  Man  and  his  spiritual 
Endeavour  lies  before  you.  But  why,1  says  the  Hofrath,  and 
indeed  say  we,  4 do  I dilate  on  the  uses  of  our  Teufelsdrockh’s 
Biography  P The  great  Herr  Minister  von  Goethe  has  pene- 
tratingly  remarked  that  “ Man  is  properly  the  only  object 


60 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  I. 

that  interests  man  ” : thus  I too  have  noted,  that  in  W eiss- 
nichtwo  our  whole  conversation  is  little  or  nothing  else  but 
Biography  or  Auto-Biography ; ever  humano-anecdotical 
(menschlich-aneJcdotisch).  Biography  is  by  nature  the  most 
universally  profitable,  universally  pleasant  of  all  things : 
especially  Biography  of  distinguished  individuals. 

‘ By  this  time,  mein  Verehrtester  (my  Most  Esteemed),’  con- 
tinues he,  with  an  eloquence  which,  unless  the  words  be  pur- 
loined from  Teufelsdrockh,  or  some  trick  of  his,  as  we  suspect, 
is  well-nigh  unaccountable,  ‘ by  this  time  you  are  fairly 
plunged  ( vertieft ) in  that  mighty  forest  of  Clothes-Philosophy  ; 
and  looking  round,  as  all  readers  do,  with  astonishment 
enough.  Such  portions  and  passages  as  you  have  already 
mastered,  and  brought  to  paper,  could  not  but  awaken  a 
strange  curiosity  touching  the  mind  they  issued  from ; the 
perhaps  unparalleled  psychical  mechanism,  which  manufac- 
tured such  matter,  and  emitted  it  to  the  light  of  day.  Had 
Teufelsdrockh  also  a father  and  mother ; did  he,  at  one  time, 
wear  drivel-bibs,  and  live  on  spoon-meat  ? Did  he  ever,  in 
rapture  and  tears,  clasp  a friend’s  bosom  to  his ; looks  he 
also  wistfully  into  the  long  burial-aisle  of  the  Past,  where 
only  winds,  and  their  low  harsh'  moan,  give  inarticulate 
answer  ? Has  he  fought  duels  ; — good  Heaven  ! how  did  he 
comport  himself  when  in  Love  ? By  what  singular  stair-steps, 
in  short,  and  subterranean  passages,  and  sloughs  of  Despair, 
and  steep  Pisgah  hills,  has  he  reached  this  wonderful  pro- 
phetic Hebron  (a  true  Old-Clothes  Jewry)  where  he  now 
dwells  ? 

‘ To  all  these  natural  questions  the  voice  of  public  History 
is  as  yet  silent.  Certain  only  that  he  has  been,  and  is,  a 
Pilgrim,  and  a Traveller  from  a far  Country ; more  or  less 
footsore  and  travel-soiled ; has  parted  with  road-companions ; 
fallen  among  thieves,  been  poisoned  by  bad  cookery,  blistered 
with  bugbites ; nevertheless,  at  every  stage  (for  they  have  let 
him  pass),  has  had  the  Bill  to  discharge.  But  the  whole 
particulars  of  his  Route,  his  Weather-observations,  the 


PROSPECTIVE 


61 


CHAP.  XI.] 

picturesque  Sketches  he  took,  though  all  regularly  jotted 
down  (in  indelible  sympathetic-ink  by  an  invisible  interior 
Penman),  are  these  nowhere  forthcoming  ? Perhaps  quite 
lost : one  other  leaf  of  that  mighty  Volume  (of  human 
Memory)  left  to  fly  abroad,  unprinted,  unpublished,  unbound 
up,  as  waste  paper ; and  to  rot,  the  sport  of  rainy  winds  ? 

4 No,  verehrtester  Herr  Herausgeler,  in  no  wise  ! I here, 
by  the  unexampled  favour  you  stand  in  with  our  Sage,  send 
not  a Biography  only,  but  an  Autobiogi’aphy : at  least  the 
materials  for  such ; wherefrom,  if  I misreckon  not,  your 
perspicacity  will  draw  fullest  insight : and  so  the  whole 
Philosophy  and  Philosopher  of  Clothes  will  stand  clear  to  the 
wondering  eyes  of  England,  nay  thence,  through  America, 
through  Hindostan,  and  the  antipodal  New  Holland,  finally 
conquer  (einnehmen)  great  part  of  this  terrestrial  Planet ! 1 

And  now  let  the  sympathising  reader  judge  of  our  feeling 
when,  in  place  of  this  same  Autobiography  with  4 fullest 
insight,’  we  find — Six  considerable  Paper-Bags,  carefully 
sealed,  and  marked  successively,  in  gilt  China-ink,  with  the 
symbols  of  the  Six  southern  Zodiacal  Signs,  beginning  at 
Libra ; in  the  inside  of  which  sealed  Bags  lie  miscellaneous 
masses  of  Sheets,  and  oftener  Shreds  and  Snips,  written  in 
Professor  Teufelsdrockh’s  scarce  legible  cursiv-schrift ; and 
treating  of  all  imaginable  things  under  the  Zodiac  and  above 
it,  but  of  his  own  personal  history  only  at  rare  intervals,  and 
then  in  the  most  enigmatic  manner. 

Whole  fascicles  there  are,  wherein  the  Professor,  or,  as  he 
here,  speaking  in  the  third  person,  calls  himself,  4 the 
Wanderer,’  is  not  once  named.  Then  again,  amidst  what 
seems  to  be  a Metaphysico-theological  Disquisition,  4 Detached 
Thoughts  on  the  Steam-engine,’  or, 4 The  continued  Possibility 
of  Prophecy,’  we  shall  meet  with  some  quite  private,  not  un- 
important Biographical  fact.  On  certain  sheets  stand  Dreams, 
authentic  or  not,  while  the  circumjacent  waking  Actions  are 
omitted.  Anecdotes,  oftenest  without  date  of  place  or  time, 
fly  loosely  on  separate  slips,  like  Sibylline  leaves.  Interspersed 


62 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  I. 

also  are  long  purely  Autobiographical  delineations ; yet  with- 
out connexion,  without  recognisable  coherence  ; so  unim- 
portant, so  superfluously  minute,  they  almost  remind  us  of 
‘ P.P.  Clerk  of  this  Parish.1  Thus  does  famine  of  intelligence 
alternate  with  waste.  Selection,  order,  appears  to  be  unknown 
to  the  Professor.  In  all  Bags  the  same  imbroglio ; only 
perhaps  in  the  Bag  Capricorn,  and  those  near  it,  the  confusion 
a little  worse  confounded.  Close  by  a rather  eloquent  Oration, 
‘ On  receiving  the  Doctor’s-Hat,1  lie  wash-bills,  marked  bezahlt 
(settled).  His  Travels  are  indicated  by  the  Street- Advertise- 
ments of  the  various  cities  he  has  visited ; of  which  Street- 
Advertisements,  in  most  living  tongues,  here  is  perhaps  the 
completest  collection  extant. 

So  that  if  the  Clothes- Volume  itself  was  too  like  a Chaos, 
we  have  now  instead  of  the  solar  Luminary  that  should  still 
it,  the  airy  Limbo  which  by  intermixture  will  farther  volatilise 
and  discompose  it ! As  we  shall  perhaps  see  it  our  duty 
ultimately  to  deposit  these  Six  Paper-Bags  in  the  British 
Museum,  farther  description,  and  all  vituperation  of  them, 
may  be  spared.  Biography  or  Autobiography  of  Teufels- 
drockh  there  is,  clearly  enough,  none  to  be  gleaned  here  : at 
most  some  sketchy,  shadowy  fugitive  likeness  of  him  may,  by 
unheard-of  efforts,  partly  of  intellect,  partly  of  imagination,  on 
the  side  of  Editor  and  of  Reader,  rise  up  between  them.  Only 
as  a gaseous-chaotic  Appendix  to  that  aqueous-chaotic  Volume 
can  the  contents  of  the  Six  Bags  hover  round  us,  and  portions 
thereof  be  incorporated  with  our  delineation  of  it. 

Daily  and  nightly  does  the  Editor  sit  (with  green  spectacles) 
deciphering  these  unimaginable  Documents  from  their  per- 
plexed cursiv-schrift ; collating  them  with  the  almost  equally 
unimaginable  Volume,  which  stands  in  legible  print.  Over 
such  a universal  medley  of  high  and  low,  of  hot,  cold,  moist 
and  dry,  is  he  here  struggling  (by  union  of  like  with  like, 
which  is  Method)  to  build  a firm  Bridge  for  British  travellers. 
Never  perhaps  since  our  first  Bridge-builders,  Sin  and  Death, 
built  that  stupendous  Arch  from  Hell-gate  to  the  Earth,  did 


PROSPECTIVE 


63 


CHAP.  XI.] 

any  Pontifex,  or  Pontiff',  undertake  such  a task  as  the  present 
Editor.  For  in  this  Arch  too,  leading,  as  we  humbly 
presume,  far  otherwards  than  that  grand  primeval  one,  the 
materials  are  to  be  fished-up  from  the  weltering  deep,  and 
down  from  the  simmering  air,  here  one  mass,  there  another, 
and  cunningly  cemented,  while  the  elements  boil  beneath  : nor 
is  there  any  supernatural  force  to  do  it  with ; but  simply  the 
Diligence  and  feeble  thinking  Faculty  of  an  English  Editor, 
endeavouring  to  evolve  printed  Creation  out  of  a German 
printed  and  written  Chaos,  wherein,  as  he  shoots  to  and  fro 
in  it,  gathering,  clutching,  piecing  the  Why  to  the  far-distant 
Wherefore,  his  whole  Faculty  and  Self  are  like  to  be  swallowed 
UP- 

Patiently,  under  these  incessant  toils  and  agitations,  does 
the  Editor,  dismissing  all  anger,  see  his  otherwise  robust 
health  declining ; some  fraction  of  his  allotted  natural  sleep 
nightly  leaving  him,  and  little  but  an  inflamed  nervous-system 
to  be  looked  for.  What  is  the  use  of  health,  or  of  life,  if 
not  to  do  some  work  therewith  ? And  what  work  nobler  than 
transplanting  foreign  Thought  into  the  barren  domestic  soil ; 
except  indeed  planting  Thought  of  your  own,  which  the  fewest 
are  privileged  to  do  ? Wild  as  it  looks,  this  Philosophy  of 
Clothes,  can  we  ever  reach  its  real  meaning,  promises  to  reveal 
new-coming  Eras,  the  first  dim  rudiments  and  already-budding 
germs  of  a nobler  Era,  in  Universal  History.  Is  not  such  a 
prize  worth  some  striving  ? Forward  with  us,  courageous 
reader ; be  it  towards  failure,  or  towards  success  ! The  latter 
thou  sharest  with  us ; the  former  also  is  not  all  our  own. 


BOOK  SECOND 


CHAPTER  I 
GENESIS 

Old  Andreas  Futteral  and  Gretchen  his  wife  : their  quiet  home.  Advent 
of  a mysterious  stranger,  who  deposits  with  them  a young  infant,  the 
future  Herr  Diogenes  Teufelsdroclch.  After-yearnings  of  the  youth  for 
his  unknown  Father.  Sovereign  power  of  Names  and  Naming.  Diogenes 
a flourishing  Infant. 

In  a psychological  point  of  view,  it  is  perhaps  questionable 
whether  from  birth  and  genealogy,  how  closely  scrutinised 
soever,  much  insight  is  to  be  gained.  Nevertheless,  as  in 
every  phenomenon  the  Beginning  remains  always  the  most 
notable  moment ; so,  with  regard  to  any  great  man,  we  rest 
not  till,  for  our  scientific  profit  or  not,  the  whole  circumstances 
of  his  first  appearance  in  this  Planet,  and  what  manner  of 
Public  Entry  he  made,  are  with  utmost  completeness  rendered 
manifest.  To  the  Genesis  of  our  Clothes-Philosopher,  then, 
be  this  First  Chapter  consecrated.  Unhappily,  indeed,  he 
seems  to  be  of  quite  obscure  extraction ; uncertain,  we  might 
almost  say,  whether  of  any : so  that  this  Genesis  of  his  can 
properly  be  nothing  but  an  Exodus  (or  transit  out  of  Invisi- 
bility into  Visibility) ; whereof  the  preliminary  portion  is 
nowhere  forthcoming. 

‘ In  the  village  of  Entepfuhl,’  thus  writes  he,  in  the  Bag 
Libra,  on  various  Papers,  which  we  arrange  with  difficulty, 
‘ dwelt  Andreas  Futteral  and  his  wife ; childless,  in  still 
seclusion,  and  cheerful  though  now  verging  towards  old  age. 
Andreas  had  been  grenadier  Sergeant,  and  even  regimental 


GENESIS 


65 


CHAP.  I.] 

Schoolmaster  under  Frederick  the  Great ; but  now,  quitting 
the  halbert  and  ferule  for  the  spade  and  praning-hook, 
cultivated  a little  Orchard,  on  the  produce  of  which  he, 
Cincinnatus-like,  lived  not  without  dignity.  Fruits,  the 
peach,  the  apple,  the  grape,  with  other  varieties  came  in 
their  season ; all  which  Andreas  knew  how  to  sell : on 
evenings  he  smoked  largely,  or  read  (as  beseemed  a regimental 
Schoolmaster),  and  talked  to  neighbours  that  would  listen 
about  the  Victory  of  Rossbach ; and  how  Fritz  the  Only 
(der  Einzige)  had  once  with  his  own  royal  lips  spoken  to 
him,  had  been  pleased  to  say,  when  Andreas  as  camp-sentinel 
demanded  the  pass- word,  “ Schiveig  Hund  (Peace,  hound)  ! ” 
before  any  of  his  staff-adjutants  could  answer.  “ Das  nenrt 
ich  mir  einen  Konig,  There  is  what  I call  a King,”  would 
Andreas  exclaim  : “ but  the  smoke  of  Kunersdorf  was  still 
smarting  his  eyes.” 

‘ Gretchen,  the  housewife,  won  like  Desdemona  by  the 
deeds  rather  than  the  looks  of  her  now  veteran  Othello,  lived 
not  in  altogether  military  subordination ; for,  as  Andreas 
said,  “the  womankind  will  not  drill  {wer  kann  die  Weiberchen 
dressiren ) : nevertheless  she  at  heart  loved  him  both  for 
valour  and  wisdom  ; to  her  a Prussian  grenadier  Sergeant  and 
Regiment’s  Schoolmaster  was  little  other  than  a Cicero  and 
Cid : what  you  see,  yet  cannot  see  over,  is  as  good  as  infinite. 
Nay,  was  not  Andreas  in  very  deed  a man  of  order,  courage, 
downrightness  ( Geradheit ) ; that  understood  Biisching’s  Geo- 
graphy, had  been  in  the  victory  of  Rossbach,  and  left  for 
dead  in  the  camisade  of  Hochkirch  ? The  good  Gretchen, 
for  all  her  fretting,  watched  over  him  and  hovered  round  him 
as  only  a true  housemother  can  : assiduously  she  cooked  and 
sewed  and  scoured  for  him ; so  that  not  only  his  old 
regimental  sword  and  grenadier-cap,  but  the  whole  habitation 
and  environment,  where  on  pegs  of  honour  they  hung,  looked 
ever  trim  and  gay  : a roomy  painted  Cottage,  embowered  in 
fruit-trees  and  forest-trees,  evergreens  and  honeysuckles;  rising 
many-coloured  from  amid  shaven  grass-plots,  flowers  strug- 


66 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  XL 

gling-in  through  the  very  windows ; under  its  long  projecting 
eaves  nothing  but  garden-tools  in  methodic  piles  (to  screen 
them  from  rain),  and  seats  where,  especially  on  summer  nights, 
a King  might  have  wished  to  sit  and  smoke,  and  call  it  his. 
Such  a Bauer  gut  (Copyhold)  had  Gretchen  given  her  veteran ; 
whose  sinewy  arms,  and  long-disused  gardening  talent,  had 
made  it  what  you  saw. 

‘ Into  this  umbrageous  Man’s-nest,  one  meek  yellow  evening 
or  dusk,  when  the  Sun,  hidden  indeed  from  terrestrial 
Entepfuhl,  did  nevertheless  journey  visible  and  radiant  along 
the  celestial  Balance  {Libra),  it  was  that  a Stranger  of 
reverend  aspect  entered ; and,  with  grave  salutation,  stood 
before  the  two  rather  astonished  housemates.  He  was  close- 
muffled  in  a wide  mantle ; which  without  farther  parley 
unfolding,  he  deposited  therefrom  what  seemed  some  Basket, 
overhung  with  green  Persian  silk ; saying  only : Ihr  lieben 
Leute , bier  bringe  ein  unschatzbares  Verleihen ; nelimt  es  in 
alter  Aclit,  sorgfaltigst  benutzt  es : mit  holiem  Lohn,  oder  wohl 
mit  schweren  Zinsen , wircTs  ebist  zuriickgefordert.  “ Good 
Christian  people,  here  lies  for  you  an  invaluable  Loan ; take 
all  heed  thereof,  in  all  carefulness  employ  it : with  high 
recompense,  or  else  with  heavy  penalty,  will  it  one  day  be 
required  back.”  Uttering  which  singular  words,  in  a clear, 
bell-like,  forever  memorable  tone,  the  Stranger  gracefully 
withdrew ; and  before  Andreas  or  his  wife,  gazing  in  expec- 
tant wonder,  had  time  to  fashion  either  question  or  answer, 
was  clean  gone.  Neither  out  of  doors  could  aught  of  him  be 
seen  or  heard ; he  had  vanished  in  the  thickets,  in  the  dusk ; 
the  Orchard-gate  stood  quietly  closed  : the  Stranger  was  gone 
once  and  always.  So  sudden  had  the  whole  transaction  been, 
in  the  autumn  stillness  and  twilight,  so  gentle,  noiseless,  that 
the  Futterals  could  have  fancied  it  all  a trick  of  Imagination, 
or  some  visit  from  an  authentic  Spirit.  Only  that  the  green- 
silk  Basket,  such  as  neither  Imagination  nor  authentic  Spirits 
are  wont  to  carry,  still  stood  visible  and  tangible  on  their 
little  parlour-table.  Towards  this  the  astonished  couple,  now 


GENESIS 


67 


CHAP.  I.] 

with  lit  candle,  hastily  turned  their  attention.  Lifting  the 
green  veil,  to  see  what  invaluable  it  hid,  they  descried  there, 
amid  down  and  rich  white  wrappages,  no  Pitt  Diamond  or 
Hapsburg  Regalia,  but,  in  the  softest  sleep,  a little  red- 
coloured  Infant  ! Beside  it,  lay  a roll  of  gold  Friedrichs,  the 
exact  amount  of  which  was  never  publicly  known ; also  a Tauf- 
schein  (baptismal  certificate),  wherein  unfortunately  nothing 
but  the  Name  was  decipherable ; other  document  or  indica- 
tion none  whatever. 

4 To  wonder  and  conjecture  was  unavailing,  then  and 
always  thenceforth.  Nowhere  in  Entepfuhl,  on  the  morrow 
or  next  day,  did  tidings  transpire  of  any  such  figure  as  the 
Stranger ; nor  could  the  Traveller,  who  had  passed  through 
the  neighbouring  Town  in  coach-and-four,  be  connected  with 
this  Apparition,  except  in  the  way  of  gratuitous  surmise. 
Meanwhile,  for  Andreas  and  his  wife,  the  grand  practical 
problem  was : What  to  do  with  this  little  sleeping  red- 
coloured  Infant  ? Amid  amazements  and  curiosities,  which 
had  to  die  away  without  external  satisfying,  they  resolved,  as 
in  such  circumstances  charitable  prudent  people  needs  must, 
on  nursing  it,  though  with  spoon-meat,  into  whiteness,  and 
if  possible  into  manhood.  The  Heavens  smiled  on  their 
endeavour : thus  has  that  same  mvsterious  Individual  ever 
since  had  a status  for  himself  in  this  visible  U niverse,  some 
modicum  of  victual  and  lodging  and  parade-ground ; and  now 
expanded  in  bulk,  faculty  and  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  he,  as 
Here  Diogenes  Teufelsdrockh,  professes  or  is  ready  to  profess, 
perhaps  not  altogether  without  effect,  in  the  New  University 
of  Weissnichtwo,  the  new  Science  of  Things  in  General.'’ 

Our  Philosopher  declares  here,  as  indeed  we  should  think 
he  well  might,  that  these  facts,  first  communicated,  by  the 
good  Gretchen  Futteral,  in  his  twelfth  year,  4 produced  on  the 
boyish  heart  and  fancy  a quite  indelible  impression.  Who 
this  reverend  Personage,’  he  says,  4 that  glided  into  the 
Orchard  Cottage  when  the  Sun  was  in  Libra,  and  then,  as  on 
spirit's  wings,  glided  out  again,  might  be  ? An  inexpressible 


68 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  n. 

desire,  full  of  love  and  of  sadness,  has  often  since  struggled 
within  me  to  shape  an  answer.  Ever,  in  my  distresses  and 
my  loneliness,  has  Fantasy  turned,  full  of  longing  ( sehnsuchts - 
voll),  to  that  unknown  Father,  who  perhaps  far  from  me, 
perhaps  near,  either  way  invisible,  might  have  taken  me  to 
his  paternal  bosom,  there  to  lie  screened  from  many  a woe. 
Thou  beloved  Father,  dost  thou  still,  shut  out  from  me  only 
by  thin  penetrable  curtains  of  earthly  Space,  wend  to  and  fro 
among  the  crowd  of  the  living  ? Or  art  thou  hidden  by 
those  far  thicker  curtains  of  the  Everlasting  Night,  or  rather 
of  the  Everlasting  Day,  through  which  my  mortal  eye  and 
outstretched  arms  need  not  strive  to  reach  ? Alas,  I know 
not,  and  in  vain  vex  myself  to  know.  More  than  once,  heart- 
deluded,  have  I taken  for  thee  this  and  the  other  noble- 
looking Stranger ; and  approached  him  wistfully,  with  in- 
finite regard  ; but  he  too  had  to  repel  me,  he  too  was  not  thou. 

4 And  yet,  0 Man  born  of  Woman,1  cries  the  Auto- 
biographer, with  one  of  his  sudden  whirls,  4 wherein  is  my 
case  peculiar  ? Hadst  thou,  any  more  than  I,  a Father 
whom  thou  knowest  ? The  Andreas  and  Gretchen,  or  the 
Adam  and  Eve,  who  led  thee  into  Life,  and  for  a time 
suckled  and  pap-fed  thee  there,  whom  thou  namest  Father 
and  Mother ; these  were,  like  mine,  but  thy  nursing-father 
and  nursing-mother : thy  true  Beginning  and  Father  is  in 
Heaven,  whom  with  the  bodily  eye  thou  shalt  never  behold, 
but  only  with  the  spiritual.1 

4 The  little  green  veil,1  adds  he,  among  much  similar  moral- 
ising, and  embroiled  discoursing,  4 1 yet  keep ; still  more  in- 
separably the  Name,  Diogenes  Teufelsdrockh.  From  the  veil 
can  nothing  be  inferred  : a piece  of  now  quite  faded  Persian 
silk,  like  thousands  of  others.  On  the  Name  I have  many 
times  meditated  and  conjectured  ; but  neither  in  this  lay  there 
any  clue.  That  it  was  my  unknown  Father’s  name  I must 
hesitate  to  believe.  To  no  purpose  have  I searched  through 
all  the  Herald’s  Books,  in  and  without  the  German  Empire, 
and  through  all  manner  of  Subscriber-Lists  ( Pranumeranten ), 


GENESIS 


69 


CHAP.  I.] 

Militia-Rolls,  and  other  Name -catalogues  ; extraordinary 
names  as  we  have  in  Germany,  the  name  Teufelsdrockh,  except 
as  appended  to  my  own  person,  nowhere  occurs.  Again,  what 
may  the  unchristian  rather  than  Christian  “ Diogenes 11  mean  ? 
Did  that  reverend  Basket- bearer  intend,  by  such  designation, 
to  shadow-forth  my  future  destiny,  or  his  own  present  malign 
humour  ? Perhaps  the  latter,  perhaps  both.  Thou  ill-starred 
Parent,  who  like  an  Ostrich  hadst  to  leave  thy  ill-starred  off- 
spring to  be  hatched  into  self-support  by  the  mere  sky-influ- 
ences of  Chance,  can  thy  pilgrimage  have  been  a smooth  one  ? 
Beset  by  Misfortune  thou  doubtless  hast  been ; or  indeed  by 
the  worst  figure  of  Misfortune,  by  Misconduct.  Often  have  I 
fancied  how,  in  thy  hard  life-battle,  thou  wert  shot  at,  and 
slung  at,  wounded,  hand-fettered,  hamstrung,  browbeaten  and 
bedevilled  by  the  Time-Spirit  ( Zeitgeist ) in  thyself  and  others, 
till  the  good  soul  first  given  thee  was  seared  into  grim  rage ; 
and  thou  hadst  nothing  for  it  but  to  leave  in  me  an  indignant 
appeal  to  the  Future,  and  living  speaking  Protest  against  the 
Devil,  as  that  same  Spirit  not  of  the  Time  only,  but  of  Time 
itself,  is  well  named  ! Which  Appeal  and  Protest,  may  I now 
modestly  add,  was  not  perhaps  quite  lost  in  air. 

‘For  indeed,  as  Walter  Shandy  often  insisted,  there  is  much, 
nay  almost  all,  in  Names.  The  Name  is  the  earliest  Garment 
you  wrap  round  the  earth-visiting  Me  ; to  which  it  thenceforth 
cleaves,  more  tenaciously  (for  there  are  Names  that  have 
lasted  nigh  thirty  centuries)  than  the  very  skin.  And  now 
from  without,  what  mystic  influences  does  it  not  send  inwards, 
even  to  the  centre ; especially  in  those  plastic  first-times,  when 
the  whole  soul  is  yet  infantine,  soft,  and  the  invisible  seedgrain 
will  grow  to  be  an  all  overshadowing  tree  ! Names  ? Could 
I unfold  the  influence  of  Names,  which  are  the  most  important 
of  all  Clothings,  I were  a second  greater  Trismegistus.  Not 
only  all  common  Speech,  but  Science,  Poetry  itself  is  no  other, 
if  thou  consider  it,  than  a right  Naming.  Adam’s  first  task 
was  giving  names  to  natural  Appearances  : what  is  ours  still 
but  a continuation  of  the  same ; be  the  Appearances  exotic- 


70 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

vegetable,  organic,  mechanic,  stars,  or  starry  movements  (as 
in  Science) ; or  (as  in  Poetry)  passions,  virtues,  calamities, 
God-attributes,  Gods  ? — In  a very  plain  sense  the  Proverb 
says,  Call  one  a thief,  and  he  will  steal ; in  an  almost  similar 
sense  may  we  not  perhaps  say,  Call  one  Diogenes  Teufels- 
drockh,  and  he  will  open  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes  ? ’ 

£ Meanwhile  the  incipient  Diogenes,  like  others,  all  ignorant 
of  his  Why,  his  How  or  Whereabout,  was  opening  his  eyes  to 
the  kind  Light ; sprawling-out  his  ten  fingers  and  toes  ; listen- 
ing, tasting,  feeling ; in  a word,  by  all  his  Pive  Senses,  still 
more  by  his  Sixth  Sense  of  Hunger,  and  a whole  infinitude  of 
inward,  spiritual,  half-awakened  Senses,  endeavouring  daily  to 
acquire  for  himself  some  knowledge  of  this  strange  Universe 
where  he  had  arrived,  be  his  task  therein  what  it  might.  In- 
finite was  his  progress ; thus  in  some  fifteen  months,  he  could 
perform  the  miracle  of — Speech  ! To  breed  a fresh  Soul,  is 
it  not  like  brooding  a fresh  (celestial)  Egg ; wherein  as  yet  all 
is  formless,  powerless ; yet  by  degrees  organic  elements  and 
fibres  shoot  through  the  watery  albumen ; and  out  of  vague 
Sensation  grows  Thought,  grows  Fantasy  and  Force,  and  we 
have  Philosophies,  Dynasties,  nay  Poetries  and  Religions  ! 

‘ Young  Diogenes,  or  rather  young  Gneschen,  for  by  such 
diminutive  had  they  in  them  fondness  named  him,  travelled 
forward  to  those  high  consummations,  by  quick  yet  easy  stages. 
The  Futterals,  to  avoid  vain  talk,  and  moreover  keep  the 
roll  of  gold  Friedrichs  safe,  gave-out  that  he  was  a grand- 
nephew ; the  orphan  of  some  sister’s  daughter,  suddenly 
deceased,  in  Andreas’s  distant  Prussian  birthland ; of  whom, 
as  of  her  indigent  sorrowing  widower,  little  enough  was  known 
at  Entepfuhl.  Heedless  of  all  which,  the  Nurseling  took  to 
his  spoon-meat,  and  throve.  I have  heard  him  noted  as  a 
still  infant,  that  kept  his  mind  much  to  himself ; above  all, 
that  seldom  or  never  cried.  He  already  felt  that  time  was 
precious ; that  he  had  other  work  cut-out  for  him  than 
whimpering.’ 


IDYLLIC 


CHAP.  II.] 


71 


Such,  after  utmost  painful  search  and  collation  among  these 
miscellaneous  Paper-masses,  is  all  the  notice  we  can  gather  of 
Herr  Teufelsdrockh’s  genealogy.  More  imperfect,  more  enig- 
matic it  can  seem  to  few  readers  than  to  us.  The  Professor, 
in  whom  truly  we  more  and  more  discern  a certain  satii'ical 
turn,  and  deep  under-currents  of  roguish  whim,  for  the  present 
stands  pledged  in  honour,  so  we  will  not  doubt  him  : but 
seems  it  not  conceivable  that,  by  the  4 good  Gretchen  Futteral,’ 
or  some  other  perhaps  interested  party,  he  has  himself  been 
deceived  ? Should  these  sheets,  translated  or  not,  ever  reach 
the  Entepfuhl  Circulating  Library,  some  cultivated  native  of 
that  district  might  feel  called  to  afford  explanation.  Nay, 
since  Books,  like  invisible  scouts,  permeate  the  whole  habit- 
able globe,  and  Timbuctoo  itself  is  not  safe  from  British 
Literature,  may  not  some  Copy  find  out  even  the  mysterious 
basket-bearing  Stranger,  who  in  a state  of  extreme  senility 
perhaps  still  exists ; and  gently  force  even  him  to  disclose 
himself ; to  claim  openly  a son,  in  whom  any  father  may  feel 
pride  ? 


CHAPTER  II 
IDYLLIC 

Happy  Childhood  ! Entepfuhl : Sights,  hearings  and  experiences  of  the 
boy  Teufelsdrockh ; their  manifold  teaching.  Education ; what  it  can  do, 
what  cannot.  Obedience  our  universal  duty  and  destiny.  Gneschen  sees 
the  good  Gretchen  pray. 

‘Happy  season  of  Childhood !’  exclaims  Teufelsdrockh : ‘Kind 
Nature,  that  art  to  all  a bountiful  mother ; that  visitest  the 
poor  man’s  hut  with  auroral  radiance ; and  for  thy  Nurseling 
hast  provided  a soft  swathing  of  Love  and  infinite  Hope, 
wherein  he  waxes  and  slumbers,  danced-round  ( umgaukelt ) by 
sweetest  Dreams  ! If  the  paternal  Cottage  still  shuts  us  in,  its 
roof  still  screens  us ; with  a Father  we  have  as  yet  a prophet, 


72 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

priest  and  king,  and  an  Obedience  that  makes  us  free.  The 
young  spirit  has  awakened  out  of  Eternity,  and  knows  not 
what  we  mean  by  Time ; as  yet  Time  is  no  fast-hurrying 
stream,  but  a sportful  sunlit  ocean ; years  to  the  child  are  as 
ages  : ah  ! the  secret  of  Vicissitude,  of  that  slower  or  quicker 
decay  and  ceaseless  down-rushing  of  the  universal  World- 
fabric,  from  the  granite  mountain  to  the  man  or  day-moth, 
is  yet  unknown ; and  in  a motionless  Universe,  we  taste,  what 
afterwards  in  this  quick-whirling  Universe,  is  forever  denied 
us,  the  balm  of  Rest.  Sleep  on,  thou  fair  Child,  for  thy  long 
rough  journey  is  at  hand  ! A little  while,  and  thou  too  shalt 
sleep  no  more,  but  thy  very  dreams  shall  be  mimic  battles ; 
thou  too,  with  old  Arnauld,  wilt  have  to  say  in  stern  patience : 
“ Rest  ? Rest  ? Shall  I not  have  all  Eternity  to  rest  in  ? ” 
Celestial  Nepenthe  ! though  a Pyrrhus  conquer  empires,  and 
an  Alexander  sack  the  world,  he  finds  thee  not ; and  thou 
hast  once  fallen  gently,  of  thy  own  accord,  on  the  eyelids,  on 
the  heart  of  every  mother’s  child.  For  as  yet,  sleep  and 
waking  are  one : the  fair  Life-garden  rustles  infinite  around, 
and  everywhere  is  dewy  fragrance,  and  the  budding  of  Hope ; 
which  budding,  if  in  youth,  too  frostnipt,  it  grow  to  flowers, 
will  in  manhood  yield  no  fruit,  but  a prickly,  bitter-rinded 
stone-fruit,  of  which  the  fewest  can  find  the  kernel.’ 

In  such  rose-coloured  light  does  our  Professor,  as  Poets  are 
wont,  look  back  on  his  childhood ; the  historical  details  of 
which  (to  say  nothing  of  much  other  vague  oratorical  matter) 
he  accordingly  dwells  on  with  an  almost  wearisome  minuteness. 
We  hear  of  Entepfuhl  standing  £ in  trustful  derangement  ’ 
among  the  woody  slopes ; the  paternal  Orchard  flanking  it  as 
extreme  outpost  from  below ; the  little  Kuhbach  gushing 
kindly  by,  among  beech-rows,  through  river  after  river,  into 
the  Donau,  into  the  Black  Sea,  into  the  Atmosphere  and 
Universe ; and  how  ‘ the  brave  old  Linden,’  stretching  like  a 
parasol  of  twenty  ells  in  radius,  overtopping  all  other  rows 
and  clumps,  towered-up  from  the  central  Agora  and  Campus 
Martins  of  the  Village,  like  its  Sacred  Tree ; and  how  the  old 


IDYLLIC 


73 


CHAP.  II.] 

men  sat  talking  under  its  shadow  (Gneschen  often  greedily 
listening),  and  the  wearied  labourers  reclined,  and  the 
unwearied  children  sported,  and  the  young  men  and  maidens 
often  danced  to  flute-music.  ‘ Glorious  summer  twilights,’ 
cries  Teufelsdrockh,  ‘ when  the  Sun,  like  a proud  Conqueror  and 
Imperial  Taskmaster,  turned  his  back,  with  his  gold-purple 
emblazonry,  and  all  his  fireclad  body-guard  (of  Prismatic 
Colours) ; and  the  tired  brickmakers  of  this  clay  Earth  might 
steal  a little  frolic,  and  those  few  meek  Stars  would  not  tell 
of  them  ! 1 

Then  we  have  long  details  of  the  Weinlesen  (Vintage),  the 
Harvest-Home,  Christmas,  and  so  forth ; with  a whole  cycle 
of  the  Entepfuhl  Children’s-games,  differing  apparently  by 
mere  superficial  shades  from  those  of  other  countries.  Con- 
cerning all  which,  we  shall  here,  for  obvious  reasons,  say 
nothing.  What  cares  the  world  for  our  as  yet  miniature 
Philosopher’s  achievements  under  that  4 brave  old  Linden’  ? 
Or  even  where  is  the  use  of  such  practical  reflections  as  the 
following  ? ‘ In  all  the  sports  of  Children,  were  it  only  in  their 
wanton  breakages  and  defacements,  you  shall  discern  a creative 
instinct  ( schaffenden  Trieb ) : the  Mankin  feels  that  he  is  a 
born  Man,  that  his  vocation  is  to  work.  The  choicest 
present  you  can  make  him  is  a Tool ; be  it  knife  or  pen-gun, 
for  construction  or  for  destruction ; either  way  it  is  for 
Work,  for  Change.  In  gregarious  sports  of  skill  or  strength, 
the  Boy  trains  himself  to  Cooperation,  for  war  or  peace,  as 
governor  or  governed  : the  little  Maid  again,  provident  of  her 
domestic  destiny,  takes  with  preference  to  Dolls.’ 

Perhaps,  however,  we  may  give  this  anecdote,  considering 
who  it  is  that  relates  it : ‘ My  first  short-clothes  were  of 
yellow  serge ; or  rather,  I should  say,  my  first  short-cloth, 
for  the  vesture  was  one  and  indivisible,  reaching  from  neck  to 
ankle,  a mere  body  with  four  limbs  : of  which  fashion  how 
little  could  I then  divine  the  architectural,  how  much  less  the 
moral  significance  ! ’ 

More  graceful  is  the  following  little  picture  : ‘ On  fine  even- 


74  SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  IT. 

ings  I was  wont  to  carry-forth  my  supper  (bread-crumb  boiled 
in  milk),  and  eat  it  out-of-doors.  On  the  coping  of  the 
Orchard-wall,  which  I could  reach  by  climbing,  or  still  more 
easily  if  Father  Andreas  would  set-up  the  pruning-ladder,  my 
porringer  was  placed  : there,  many  a sunset,  have  I,  looking 
at  the  distant  western  Mountains,  consumed,  not  without 
relish,  my  evening  meal.  Those  hues  of  gold  and  azure,  that 
hush  of  World’s  expectation  as  Day  died,  were  still  a Hebrew 
Speech  for  me ; nevertheless  I was  looking  at  the  fair  illumin- 
ated Letters,  and  had  an  eye  for  their  gilding.’ 

With  ‘ the  little  one’s  friendship  for  cattle  and  poultry  ’ we 
shall  not  much  intermeddle.  It  may  be  that  hereby  he 
acquired  a ‘ certain  deeper  sympathy  with  animated  Nature  ’ : 
but  when,  we  would  ask,  saw  any  man,  in  a collection  of 
Biographical  Documents,  such  a piece  as  this  : 4 Impressive 
enough  ( bedeutimgsvoll ) was  it  to  hear,  in  early  morning,  the 
Swineherd’s  horn ; and  know  that  so  many  hungry  happy 
quadrupeds  were,  on  all  sides,  starting  in  hot  haste  to  join 
him,  for  breakfast  on  the  Heath.  Or  to  see  them  at  even- 
tide, all  marching-in  again,  with  short  squeak,  almost  in 
military  order ; and  each,  topographically  correct,  trotting-off 
in  succession  to  the  right  or  left,  through  its  own  lane,  to  its 
own  dwelling ; till  old  Kunz,  at  the  Village-head,  now  left 
alone,  blew  his  last  blast,  and  retired  for  the  night.  We  are 
wont  to  love  the  Hog  chiefly  in  the  form  of  Ham ; yet  did 
not  these  bristly  thick-skinned  beings  here  manifest  intelligence, 
perhaps  humour  of  character ; at  any  rate,  a touching,  trust- 
ful submissiveness  to  Man, — who,  were  he  but  a Swineherd, 
in  darned  gabardine,  and  leather  breeches  more  resembling 
slate  or  discoloured-tin  breeches,  is  still  the  Hierarch  of  this 
lower  world  ?’ 

It  is  maintained,  by  Helvetius  and  his  set,  that  an  infant 
of  genius  is  quite  the  same  as  any  other  infant,  only  that  cer- 
tain surprisingly  favourable  influences  accompany  him  through 
life,  especially  through  childhood,  and  expand  him,  while 
others  lie  closefolded  and  continue  dunces.  Herein,  say  they, 


IDYLLIC 


75 


CHAP.  II.] 

consists  the  whole  difference  between  an  inspired  Prophet  and 
a double-barrelled  Game-preserver : the  inner  man  of  the  one 
has  been  fostered  into  generous  development ; that  of  the 
other,  crushed-down  perhaps  by  vigour  of  animal  digestion, 
and  the  like,  has  exuded  and  evaporated,  or  at  best  sleeps 
now  irresuscitably  stagnant  at  the  bottom  of  his  stomach. 
‘ With  which  opinion,’  cries  Teufelsdrockh,  ‘ I should  as  soon 
agree  as  with  this  other,  that  an  acorn  might,  by  favourable 
or  unfavourable  influences  of  soil  and  climate,  be  nursed  into 
a cabbage,  or  the  cabbage-seed  into  an  oak. 

‘ Nevertheless,’  continues  he,  ‘ I too  acknowledge  the  all-but 
omnipotence  of  early  culture  and  nurture : hereby  we  have 
either  a doddered  dwarf  bush,  or  a high-towering,  wide-shadow- 
ing tree ; either  a sick  yellow  cabbage,  or  an  edible  luxuriant 
green  one.  Of  a truth,  it  is  the  duty  of  all  men,  especially 
of  all  philosophers,  to  note-down  with  accuracy  the  character- 
istic circumstances  of  their  Education,  what  furthered,  what 
hindered,  what  in  any  way  modified  it : to  which  duty,  nowa- 
days so  pressing  for  many  a German  Autobiographer,  I also 
zealously  address  myself.’ — Thou  rogue  ! Is  it  by  short- 
clothes  of  yellow  serge,  and  swineherd  horns,  that  an  infant 
of  genius  is  educated  ? And  yet,  as  usual,  it  ever  remains 
doubtful  whether  he  is  laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  these  Auto- 
biographical times  of  ours,  or  writing  from  the  abundance  of 
his  own  fond  ineptitude.  Por  he  continues  : ‘ If  among  the 
ever-streaming  currents  of  Sights,  Hearings,  Feelings  for  Pain 
or  Pleasure,  whereby,  as  in  a Magic  Hall,  young  Gneschen 
went  about  environed,  I might  venture  to  select  and  specify, 
perhaps  these  following  were  also  of  the  number  : 

‘ Doubtless,  as  childish  sports  call  forth  Intellect,  Activity, 
so  the  young  creature’s  Imagination  was  stirred  up,  and  a 
Historical  tendency  given  him  by  the  narrative  habits  of 
Father  Andreas ; who,  with  his  battle-reminiscences,  and  gray 
austere  yet  hearty  patriarchal  aspect,  could  not  but  appear 
another  Ulysses  and  “ much-enduring  Man.”  Eagerly  I hung 
upon  his  tales,  when  listening  neighbours  enlivened  the  hearth  ; 


76 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

from  these  perils  and  these  travels,  wild  and  far  almost  as 
Hades  itself,  a dim  world  of  Adventure  expanded  itself  within 
me.  Incalculable  also  was  the  knowledge  I acquired  in  stand- 
ing by  the  Old  Men  under  the  Linden-tree  : the  whole  of 
Immensity  was  yet  new  to  me ; and  had  not  these  reverend 
seniors,  talkative  enough,  been  employed  in  partial  surveys 
thereof  for  nigh  fourscore  years  ? With  amazement  I began 
to  discover  that  Entepfuhl  stood  in  the  middle  of  a Country, 
of  a World ; that  there  was  such  a thing  as  History,  as 
Biography ; to  which  I also,  one  day,  by  hand  and  tongue, 
might  contribute. 

‘ In  a like  sense  worked  the  Postzvagen  (Stage-coach), 
which,  slow-rolling  under  its  mountains  of  men  and  luggage, 
wended  through  our  Village  : northwards,  truly,  in  the  dead 
of  night ; yet  southwards  visibly  at  eventide.  Not  till  my 
eighth  year  did  I reflect  that  this  Postwagen  could  be  other 
than  some  terrestrial  Moon,  rising  and  setting  by  mere  Law 
of  Nature,  like  the  heavenly  one ; that  it  came  on  made  high- 
ways, from  far  cities  towards  far  cities ; weaving  them  like  a 
monstrous  shuttle  into  closer  and  closer  union.  It  was  then 
that,  independently  of  Schiller’s  Wilhelm  Tell,  I made  this 
not  quite  insignificant  reflection  (so  true  also  in  spiritual 
things)  : Any  road,  this  simple  Entepfuhl  road,  will  lead  you  to 
the  end  of  the  World! 

‘ Why  mention  our  Swallows,  which,  out  of  far  Africa,  as 
I learned,  threading  their  way  over  seas  and  mountains,  cor- 
porate cities  and  belligerent  nations,  yearly  found  themselves, 
with  the  month  of  May,  snug-lodged  in  our  Cottage  Lobby  ? 
The  hospitable  Father  (for  cleanliness’  sake)  had  fixed  a little 
bracket  plumb  under  their  nest : there  they  built,  and  caught 
flies,  and  twittered,  and  bred ; and  all,  I chiefly,  from  the 
heart  loved  them.  Bright,  nimble  creatures,  who  taught  you 
the  mason-craft ; nay,  stranger  still,  gave  you  a masonic  incor- 
poration, almost  social  police  ? For  if,  by  ill  chance,  and  when 
time  pressed,  your  House  fell,  have  I not  seen  five  neigh- 
bourly Helpers  appear  next  day ; and  swashing  to  and  fro. 


chap.il]  IDYLLIC  77 

with  animated,  loud,  long-drawn  chirpings,  and  activity  almost 
super-hirundine,  complete  it  again  before  nightfall  ? 

‘ But  undoubtedly  the  grand  summary  of  Entepfuhl  child’s- 
culture,  where  as  in  a funnel  its  manifold  influences  were 
concentrated  and  simultaneously  poured-down  on  us,  was  the 
annual  Cattle-fair.  Here,  assembling  from  all  the  four  winds, 
came  the  elements  of  an  unspeakable  hurlyburly.  Nutbrown 
maids  and  nutbrown  men,  all  clear-washed,  loud-laughing, 
bedizened  and  beribanded ; who  came  for  dancing,  for  treat- 
ing, and  if  possible,  for  happiness.  Topbooted  Graziers  from 
the  North ; Swiss  Brokers,  Italian  Drovers,  also  topbooted, 
from  the  South  ; these  with  their  subalterns  in  leather  jerkins, 
leather  skull-caps,  and  long  oxgoads ; shouting  in  half- 
articulate  speech,  amid  the  inarticulate  barking  and  bellow- 
ing. Apart  stood  Potters  from  far  Saxony,  with  their  crockery 
in  fair  rows ; Niirnberg  Pedlars,  in  booths  that  to  me  seemed 
richer  than  Ormuz  bazaars ; Showmen  from  the  Lago  Mag- 
giore ; detachments  of  the  Wiener  Schub  (Offscourings  of 
Vienna)  vociferously  superintending  games  of  chance.  Ballad- 
singers  brayed,  Auctioneers  grew  hoarse ; cheap  New  Wine 
( heuriger ) flowed  like  water,  still  worse  confounding  the  confu- 
sion ; and  high  over  all,  vaulted,  in  ground-and-lofty  tumbling, 
a particoloured  Merry- Andrew,  like  the  genius  of  the  place 
and  of  Life  itself. 

e Thus  encircled  by  the  mystery  of  Existence ; under  the 
deep  heavenly  Firmament ; waited-on  by  the  four  golden  Sea- 
sons, with  their  vicissitudes  of  contribution,  for  even  grim 
Winter  brought  its  skating-matches  and  shooting-matches,  its 
snow-storms  and  Christmas-carols, — did  the  Child  sit  and 
learn.  These  things  were  the  Alphabet,  whereby  in  after- 
time he  was  to  syllable  and  partly  read  the  grand  Volume  of 
the  World  : what  matters  it  whether  such  Alphabet  be  in 
large  gilt  letters  or  in  small  ungilt  ones,  so  you  have  an  eye 
to  read  it  ? For  Gneschen,  eager  to  learn,  the  very  act  of 
looking  thereon  was  a blessedness  that  gilded  all : his  existence 
was  a bright,  soft  element  of  Joy ; out  of  which,  as  in 


78 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

Prosperous  Island,  wonder  after  wonder  bodied  itself  forth,  to 
teach  by  charming. 

‘ Nevertheless,  I wei’e  but  a vain  dreamer  to  say,  that  even 
then  my  felicity  was  perfect.  I had,  once  for  all,  come  down 
from  Heaven  into  the  Earth.  Among  the  rainbow  colours 
that  glowed  on  my  horizon,  lay  even  in  childhood  a dark  ring 
of  Care,  as  yet  no  thicker  than  a thread,  and  often  quite  over- 
shone ; yet  always  it  reappeared,  nay  ever  waxing  broader  and 
broader ; till  in  after-years  it  almost  over-shadowed  my  whole 
canopy,  and  threatened  to  engulf  me  in  final  night.  It  was 
the  ring  of  Necessity  whereby  we  are  all  begirt ; happy  he  for 
whom  a kind  heavenly  Sun  brightens  it  into  a ring  of  Duty, 
and  plays  round  it  with  beautiful  prismatic  diffractions ; yet 
ever,  as  basis  and  as  bourne  for  our  whole  being,  it  is  there. 

‘ For  the  first  few  years  of  our  terrestrial  Apprenticeship,  we 
have  not  much  work  to  do ; but,  boarded  and  lodged  gratis, 
are  set  down  mostly  to  look  about  us  over  the  workshop,  and 
see  others  work,  till  we  have  understood  the  tools  a little,  and 
can  handle  this  and  that.  If  good  Passivity  alone,  and  not 
good  Passivity  and  good  Activity  together,  were  the  thing 
wanted,  then  was  my  early  position  favourable  beyond  the 
most.  In  all  that  respects  openness  of  Sense,  affectionate 
Temper,  ingenuous  Curiosity,  and  the  fostering  of  these,  what 
more  could  I have  wished  ? On  the  other  side,  however, 
things  went  not  so  well.  My  Active  Power  ( Thatkraft ) was 
unfavourably  hemmed-in  ; of  which  misfortune  how  many 
traces  yet  abide  with  me  ! In  an  orderly  house,  where  the 
litter  of  children’s  sports  is  hateful  enough,  your  training  is 
too  stoical ; rather  to  bear  and  forbear  than  to  make  and  do. 
I was  forbid  much  : wishes  in  any  measure  bold  I had  to 
renounce  ; everywhere  a strait  bond  of  Obedience  inflexibly 
held  me  down.  Thus  already  Freewill  often  came  in  painful 
collision  with  Necessity  ; so  that  my  tears  flowed,  and  at  seasons 
the  Child  itself  might  taste  that  root  of  bitterness,  wherewith 
the  whole  fruitage  of  our  life  is  mingled  and  tempered. 


IDYLLIC 


79 


CHAP.  II.] 

£ Li  which  habituation  to  Obedience,  truly,  it  was  beyond 
measure  safer  to  err  by  excess  than  by  defect.  Obedience  is 
our  universal  duty  and  destiny ; wherein  whoso  will  not  bend 
must  break : too  early  and  too  thoroughly  we  cannot  be 
trained  to  know  that  Would,  in  this  world  of  ours,  is  as  mere 
zero  to  Should,  and  for  most  part  as  the  smallest  of  fractions 
even  to  Shall.  Hereby  was  laid  for  me  the  basis  of  worldly 
Discretion,  nay  of  Morality  itself.  Let  me  not  quarrel  with 
my  upbringing.  It  was  rigorous,  too  frugal,  compressively 
secluded,  everyway  unscientific  : yet  in  that  very  strictness 
and  domestic  solitude  might  there  not  lie  the  root  of  deeper 
earnestness,  of  the  stem  from  which  all  noble  fruit  must  grow  ? 
Above  all,  how  unskilful  soever,  it  was  loving,  it  was  well- 
meant,  honest ; whereby  every  deficiency  was  helped.  My 
kind  Mother,  for  as  such  I must  ever  love  the  good  Gretchen, 
did  me  one  altogether  invaluable  service  : she  taught  me,  less 
indeed  by  word  than  by  act  and  daily  reverent  look  and 
habitude,  her  own  simple  version  of  the  Christian  Faith. 
Andreas  too  attended  Church ; yet  more  like  a parade-duty, 
for  which  he  in  the  other  world  expected  pay  with  arrears, — 
as,  I trust,  he  has  received  ; but  my  Mother,  with  a true 
woman’s  heart,  and  fine  though  uncultivated  sense,  was  in  the 
strictest  acceptation  Religious.  How  indestructibly  the  Good 
grows,  and  propagates  itself,  even  among  the  weedy  entangle- 
ments of  Evil  ! The  highest  whom  I knew  on  Eai’th  I here 
saw  bowed  down,  with  awe  unspeakable,  before  a Higher  in 
Heaven  : such  things,  especially  in  infancy,  reach  inwards  to 
the  very  core  of  your  being ; mysteriously  does  a Holy  of 
Holies  build  itself  into  visibility  in  the  mysterious  deeps  ; and 
Reverence,  the  divinest  in  man,  springs  forth  undying  from 
its  mean  envelopment  of  Fear.  Wouldst  thou  rather  be  a 


peasant’s  son  that  knew,  were  it  never  so  rudely,  there  was  a 
God  in  Heaven  and  in  Man ; or  a duke’s  son  that  only  knew 
there  were  two-and- thirty  quarters  on  the 'family-coach  ? ’ 

To  which  last  question  we  must  answer  : Beware,  0 
Teufelsdrockh,  of  spiritual  pride  ! 


80 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  III 
PEDAGOGY 

Teufelsdrockb’s  School.  His  Education.  How  the  ever-flowing  Kuhbach 
speaks  of  Time  and  Eternity.  The  Hinterschlag  Gymnasium  : rude  Boys ; 
and  pedant  Professors.  The  need  of  true  Teachers,  and  their  due  recog- 
nition. Father  Andreas  dies ; and  Teufelsdrockh  learns  the  secret  of  his 
birth : His  reflections  thereon.  The  Nameless  University.  Statistics  of 
Imposture  much  wanted.  Bitter  fruits  of  Rationalism : Teufelsdrockh’s 
religious  difficulties.  The  young  Englishman  Herr  Towgood.  Modern 
Friendship. 

Hitherto  we  see  young  Gneschen,  in  his  indivisible  case  of 
yellow  serge,  borne  forward  mostly  on  the  arms  of  kind 
Nature  alone ; seated,  indeed,  and  much  to  his  mind,  in  the 
terrestrial  workshop,  but  (except  his  soft  hazel  eyes,  which  we 
doubt  not  already  gleamed  with  a still  intelligence)  called 
upon  for  little  voluntary  movement  there.  Hitherto,  accord- 
ingly, his  aspect  is  rather  generic,  that  of  an  incipient 
Philosopher  and  Poet  in  the  abstract ; perhaps  it  would 
puzzle  Herr  Heuschrecke  himself  to  say  wherein  the  special 
Doctrine  of  Clothes  is  as  yet  foreshadowed  or  betokened. 
For  with  Gneschen,  as  with  others,  the  Man  may  indeed  stand 
pictured  in  the  Boy  (at  least  all  the  pigments  are  there) ; 
yet  only  some  half  of  the  Man  stands  in  the  Child,  or  young 
Boy,  namely,  his  Passive  endowment,  not  his  Active.  The 
more  impatient  are  we  to  discover  what  figure  he  cuts  in 
this  latter  capacity ; how,  when,  to  use  his  own  words,  £ he 
understands  the  tools  a little,  and  can  handle  this  or  that,’ 
he  will  proceed  to  handle  it. 

Here,  however,  may  be  the  place  to  state  that,  in  much  of 
our  Philosopher’s  history,  there  is  something  of  an  almost 
Hindoo  character : nay  perhaps  in  that  so  well-fostered  and 
every-way  excellent  ‘ Passivity  ’ of  his,  which,  with  no  free 
developement  of  the  antagonist  Activity,  distinguished  his 
childhood,  we  may  detect  the  rudiments  of  much  that,  in 
after  days,  and  still  in  these  present  days,  astonishes  the 


PEDAGOGY 


81 


CHAP.  III.] 

world.  For  the  shallow-sighted,  Teufelsdrockh  is  oftenest  a 
man  without  Activity  of  any  kind,  a No-man  ; for  the  deep- 
sighted,  again,  a man  with  Activity  almost  superabundant, 
yet  so  spiritual,  close-hidden,  enigmatic,  that  no  mortal  can 
foresee  its  explosions,  or  even  when  it  has  exploded,  so  much 
as  ascertain  its  significance.  A dangerous,  difficult  temper  for 
the  modern  European ; above  all,  disadvantageous  in  the 
hero  of  a Biography  ! Now  as  heretofore  it  will  behove  the 
Editor  of  these  pages,  were  it  never  so  unsuccessfully,  to  do 
his  endeavour. 

Among  the  earliest  tools  of  any  complicacy  which  a man, 
especially  a man  of  letters,  gets  to  handle,  are  his  Class-books. 
On  this  portion  of  his  History,  Teufelsdrockh  looks  down 
professedly  as  indifferent.  Reading  he  ‘ cannot  remember 
ever  to  have  learned  1 ; so  perhaps  had  it  by  nature.  He  says 
generally : ‘ Of  the  insignificant  portion  of  my  Education, 
which  depended  on  Schools,  there  need  almost  no  notice  be 
taken.  I learned  what  others  learn ; and  kept  it  stored-by 
in  a corner  of  my  head,  seeing  as  yet  no  manner  of  use  in  it. 
My  Schoolmaster,  a downbent,  brokenhearted,  underfoot 
martyr,  as  others  of  that  guild  are,  did  little  for  me,  except 
discover  that  he  could  do  little  : he,  good  soul,  pronounced 
me  a genius,  fit  for  the  learned  professions ; and  that  I must 
be  sent  to  the  Gymnasium,  and  one  day  to  the  University. 
Meanwhile,  what  printed  thing  soever  I could  meet  with  I 
read.  My  very  copper  pocket-money  I laid-out  on  stall- 
literature  ; which,  as  it  accumulated,  I with  my  own  hands 
sewed  into  volumes.  By  this  means  was  the  young  head 
furnished  with  a considerable  miscellany  of  things  and 
shadows  of  things : History  in  authentic  fragments  lay 
mingled  with  Fabulous  chimeras,  wherein  also  was  reality ; 
and  the  whole  not  as  dead  stuff,  but  as  living  pabulum, 
tolerably  nutritive  for  a mind  as  yet  so  peptic.1 

That  the  Entepfuhl  Schoolmaster  judged  well,  we  now  know. 
Indeed,  already  in  the  youthful  Gneschen,  with  all  his  out- 
ward stillness,  there  may  have  been  manifest  an  inward 


F 


82 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

vivacity  that  promised  much ; symptoms  of  a spirit  singularly 
open,  thoughtful,  almost  poetical.  Thus,  to  say  nothing  of 
his  Suppers  on  the  Orchard-wall,  and  other  phenomena  of 
that  earlier  period,  have  many  readers  of  these  pages  stumbled, 
in  their  twelfth  year,  on  such  reflections  as  the  following? 
‘ It  struck  me  much,  as  I sat  by  the  Kuhbach,  one  silent 
noontide,  and  watched  it  flowing,  gurgling,  to  think  how  this 
same  streamlet  had  flowed  and  gurgled,  through  all  changes 
of  weather  and  of  fortune,  from  beyond  the  earliest  date  of 
History.  Yes,  probably  on  the  morning  when  Joshua  forded 
Jordan  ; even  as  at  the  mid-day  when  Caesar,  doubtless  with 
difficulty,  swam  the  Nile,  yet  kept  his  Commentaries  dry, — 
this  little  Kuhbach,  assiduous  as  Tiber,  Eurotas  or  Siloa,  was 
murmuring  on  across  the  wilderness,  as  yet  unnamed,  unseen  : 
here,  too,  as  in  the  Euphrates  and  the  Ganges,  is  a vein  or 
veinlet  of  the  grand  World-circulation  of  Waters,  which, 
with  its  atmospheric  arteries,  has  lasted  and  lasts  simply  with 
the  World.  Thou  fool  ! Nature  alone  is  antique,  and  the 
oldest  art  a mushroom  ; that  idle  crag  thou  sittest  on  is  six- 
thousand  years  of  age.’  In  which  little  thought,  as  in  a 
little  fountain,  may  there  not  lie  the  beginning  of  those 
well-nigh  unutterable  meditations  on  the  grandeur  and 
mystery  of  Time,  and  its  relation  to  Eternity,  which  play 
such  a part  in  this  Philosophy  of  Clothes  ? 

Over  his  Gymnasic  and  Academic  years  the  Professor  by  no 
means  lingers  so  lyrical  and  joyful  as  over  his  childhood. 
Green  sunny  tracts  there  are  still ; but  intersected  by  bitter 
rivulets  of  tears,  here  and  there  stagnating  into  sour  marshes 
of  discontent.  4 With  my  first  view  of  the  Hinterschlag 
Gymnasium,’  writes  he,  4 my  evil  days  began.  Well  do  I still 
remember  the  red  sunny  Whitsuntide  morning,  when,  trotting 
full  of  hope  by  the  side  of  Father  Andreas,  I entered  the 
main  street  of  the  place,  and  saw  its  steeple-clock  (then 
striking  Eight)  and  Schuldthurm  (Jail),  and  the  aproned  or 
disaproned  Burghers  moving-in  to  breakfast : a little  dog,  in 
mad  terror,  was  rushing  past ; for  some  human  imps  had  tied 


PEDAGOGY 


83 


CHAP.  III.J 

a tin-kettle  to  its  tail ; thus  did  the  agonised  creature,  loud- 
jingling,  career  through  the  whole  length  of  the  Borough, 
and  become  notable  enough.  Fit  emblem  of  many  a Con- 
quering Hero,  to  whom  Fate  (wedding  Fantasy  to  Sense,  as  it 
often  elsewhere  does)  has  milignantly  appended  a tin-kettle  of 
Ambition,  to  chase  him  on  ; which  the  faster  he  runs,  urges 
him  the  faster,  the  more  loudly  and  more  foolishly ! Fit 
emblem  also  of  much  that  awaited  myself,  in  that  mis- 
chievous Den ; as  in  the  World,  whereof  it  was  a portion 
and  epitome ! 

4 Alas,  the  kind  beech-rows  of  Entepfuhl  were  hidden  in 
the  distance : I was  among  strangers,  harshly,  at  best 
indifferently,  disposed  towards  me ; the  young  heart  felt,  for 
the  first  time,  quite  orphaned  and  alone.-1  His  schoolfellows,  as 
is  usual,  persecuted  him  : 4 They  were  Boys,1  he  says,  4 mostly 

l'ude  Boys,  and  obeyed  the  impulse  of  rude  Nature,  which 
bids  the  deerherd  fall  upon  any  stricken  hart,  the  duck-flock 
put  to  death  any  broken-winged  brother  or  sister,  and  on  all 
hands  the  strong  tyrannise  over  the  weak.1  He  admits  that 
though  4 perhaps  in  an  unusual  degree  morally  courageous,1  he 
succeeded  ill  in  battle,  and  would  fain  have  avoided  it ; a 
result,  as  would  appear,  owing  less  to  his  small  personal 
stature  (for  in  passionate  seasons  he  was  4 incredibly  nimble 1 ), 
than  to  his  4 virtuous  principles 1 : 4 if  it  was  disgraceful  to 
be  beaten,1  says  he,  4 it  was  only  a shade  less  disgraceful  to 
have  so  much  as  fought ; thus  was  I drawn  two  ways  at  once, 
and  in  this  important  element  of  school-history,  the  war- 
element,  had  little  but  sorrow.1  On  the  whole,  that  same 
excellent  4 Passivity,1  so  notable  in  Teufelsdrockh’s  childhood, 
is  here  visibly  enough  again  getting  nourishment.  4 He  wept 
often ; indeed  to  such  a degree  that  he  was  nicknamed  Der 
Weinende  (the  Tearful),  which  epithet,  till  towards  his 
thirteenth  year,  was  indeed  not  quite  unmerited.  Only  at  rare 
intervals  did  the  young  soul  burst-forth  into  fire-eyed  rage, 
and,  with  a stormfulness  ( Ungestum ) under  which  the  boldest 
quailed,  assert  that  he  too  had  flights  of  Man,  or  at  least  of 


84- 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  II. 

Mankin.’  In  all  which,  who  does  not  discern  a fine  flower-tree 
and  cinnamon-tree  (of  genius)  nigh  choked  among  pumpkins, 
reed-grass  and  ignoble  shrubs ; and  forced  if  it  would  live,  to 
struggle  upwards  only,  and  not  outwards  ; into  a height  quite 
sickly,  and  disproportioned  to  its  breadth  ? 

We  find,  moreover,  that  his  Greek  and  Latin  • were 
‘ mechanically 1 taught ; Hebrew  scarce  even  mechanically  ; 
much  else  which  they  called  History,  Cosmography,  Philo- 
sophy, and  so  forth,  no  better  than  not  at  all.  So  that, 
except  inasmuch  as  Nature  was  still  busy ; and  he  himself 
‘ went  about,  as  was  of  old  his  wont,  among  the  Craftsmen’s 
workshops,  there  learning  many  things  ’ ; and  farther  lighted 
on  some  small  store  of  curious  reading,  in  Hans  Wachtel  the 
Cooper’s  house,  where  he  lodged, — his  time,  it  would  appear, 
was  utterly  wasted.  'Which  facts  the  Professor  has  not  yet 
learned  to  look  upon  with  any  contentment.  Indeed, 
throughout  the  whole  of  this  Bag  Scorpio , where  we  now 
are,  and  often  in  the  following  Bag,  he  shows  himself  unusually 
animated  on  the  matter  of  Education,  and  not  without  some 
touch  of  what  we  might  presume  to  be  anger. 

‘ My  Teachers,’  says  he,  ‘ were  hide-bound  Pedants,  without 
knowledge  of  man’s  nature,  or  of  boy’s ; or  of  aught  save 
their  lexicons  and  quarterly  account-books.  Innumerable 
dead  Vocables  (no  dead  Language,  for  they  themselves  knew 
no  Language)  they  crammed  into  us,  and  called  it  fostering 
the  growth  of  mind.  How  can  an  inanimate,  mechanical 
Gerund  grinder,  the  like  of  whom  will,  in  a subsequent 
century,  be  manufactured  at  Niirnberg  out  of  wood  and 
leather,  foster  the  growth  of  anything ; much  more  of  Mind, 
which  grows,  not  like  a vegetable  (by  having  its  roots  littered 
with  etymological  compost),  but  like  a spirit,  by  mysterious 
contact  of  Spirit ; Thought  kindling  itself  at  the  fire  of  living 
Thought  ? How  shall  he  give  kindling,  in  whose  own  inward 
man  there  is  no  live  coal,  but  all  is  burnt-out  to  a dead 
grammatical  cinder  ? The  Hinterschlag  Professors  knew  syntax 
enough  ; and  of  the  human  soul  thus  much  : that  it  had  a 


chap,  ill.]  PEDAGOGY  85 

faculty  called  Memory,  and  could  be  acted-on  through  the 
muscular  integument  by  appliance  of  birch-rods. 

‘ Alas,  so  is  it  everywhere,  so  will  it  ever  be ; till  the  Hod- 
man is  discharged,  or  reduced  to  hodbearing ; and  an 
Architect  is  hired,  and  on  all  hands  fitly  encouraged : till 
communities  and  individuals  discover,  not  without  surprise, 
that  fashioning  the  souls  of  a generation  by  Knowledge  can 
rank  on  a level  with  blowing  their  bodies  to  pieces  by 
Gunpowder ; that  with  Generals  and  Fieldmarshals  for  killing, 
there  should  be  world-honoured  Dignitaries,  and  were  it 
possible,  true  God-ordained  Priests,  for  teaching.  But  as 
yet,  though  the  Soldier  wears  openly,  and  even  parades,  his 
butchering-tool,  nowhere,  far  as  I have  travelled,  did  the 
Schoolmaster  make  show  of  his  instructing-tool  : nay,  were  he 
to  walk  abroad  with  birch  girt  on  thigh,  as  if  he  therefrom 
expected  honour,  would  there  not,  among  the  idler  class, 
perhaps  a certain  levity  be  excited  ? 1 

In  the  third  year  of  this  Gymnasic  period,  Father  Andreas 
seems  to  have  died : the  young  Scholar,  otherwise  so 
maltreated,  saw  himself  for  the  first  time  clad  outwardly  in 
sables,  and  inwardly  in  quite  inexpressible  melancholy.  ‘ The 
dark  bottomless  Abyss,  that  lies  under  our  feet,  had  yawned 
open  ; the  pale  kingdoms  of  Death,  with  all  their  innumerable 
silent  nations  and  generations,  stood  before  him ; the 
inexorable  word,  Never  ! now  first  showed  its  meaning.  My 
Mother  wept,  and  her  sorrow  got  vent ; but  in  my  heart  there 
lay  a whole  lake  of  tears,  pent-up  in  silent  desolation. 
Nevertheless  the  unworn  Spirit  is  strong ; Life  is  so  healthful 
that  it  even  finds  nourishment  in  Death : these  stern 
experiences,  planted  down  by  Memory  in  my  Imagination, 
rose  there  to  a whole  cypress-forest,  sad  but  beautiful ; waving, 
with  not  unmelodious  sighs,  in  dark  luxuriance,  in  the 
hottest  sunshine,  through  long  years  of  youth : — as  in 
manhood  also  it  does,  and  will  do ; for  I have  now  pitched 
my  tent  under  a Cypress-tree ; the  Tomb  is  now  my  inex- 
pugnable Fortress,  ever  close  by  the  gate  of  which  I look 


86 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  n. 

upon  the  hostile  armaments,  and  pains  and  penalties  of 
tyrannous  Life  placidly  enough,  and  listen  to  its  loudest 
threatenings  with  a still  smile.  O ye  loved  ones,  that 
already  sleep  in  the  noiseless  Bed  of  Rest,  whom  in  life  1 
could  only  weep  for  and  never  help ; and  ye,  who  wide- 
scattered  still  toil  lonely  in  the  monster-bearing  Desert,  dyeing 
the  flinty  ground  with  your  blood, — yet  a little  while,  and 
we  shall  all  meet  there,  and  our  Mother’s  bosom  will  screen 
us  all ; and  Oppression’s  harness,  and  Sorrow’s  fire-whip,  and 
all  the  Gehenna  Bailiffs  that  patrol  and  inhabit  ever-vexed 
Time,  cannot  thenceforth  harm  us  any  more  !’ 

Close  by  which  rather  beautiful  apostrophe,  lies  a laboured 
Character  of  the  deceased  Andreas  Futteral ; of  his  natural 
ability,  his  deserts  in  life  (as  Prussian  Sergeant) ; with  long 
historical  inquiries  into  the  genealogy  of  the  Futteral  Family, 
here  traced  back  as  far  as  Henry  the  Fowler : the  whole  of 
which  we  pass  over,  not  without  astonishment.  It  only 
concerns  us  to  add,  that  now  was  the  time  when  Mother 
Gretchen  revealed  to  her  foster-son  that  he  was  not  at  all  of 
this  kindred ; or  indeed  of  any  kindred,  having  come  into 
historical  existence  in  the  way  already  known  to  us.  ‘ Thus 
was  I doubly  orphaned,’  says  he ; ‘ bereft  not  only  of  Pos- 
session, but  even  of  Remembrance.  Sorrow  and  Wonder, 
here  suddenly  united,  could  not  but  produce  abundant  fruit. 
Such  a disclosure,  in  such  a season,  struck  its  roots  through 
my  whole  nature  : ever  till  the  years  of  mature  manhood,  it 
mingled  with  my  whole  thoughts,  was  as  the  stem  whereon  all 
my  day-dreams  and  night-dreams  grew.  A certain  poetic 
elevation,  yet  also  a corresponding  civic  depression,  it  naturally 
imparted  : I was  like  no  other ; in  which  fixed-idea,  leading 
sometimes  to  highest,  and  oftener  to  frightfullest  results,  may 
there  not  lie  the  first  spring  of  tendencies,  which  in  my  Life  have 
become  remarkable  enough?  As  in  birth,  so  in  action,  specula- 
tion, and  social  position,  my  fellows  are  perhaps  not  numerous.’ 

In  the  Bag  Sagittarius , as  we  at  length  discover,  Teufels 


£.  / - 

chap,  in.]  PEDAGOGY  87 

drockh  has  become  a University  man ; though  how,  when,  or 
of  what  quality,  will  nowhere  disclose  itself  with  the  smallest 
certainty.  Few  things,  in  the  way  of  confusion  and  capricious 
indistinctness,  can  now  surprise  our  readers ; not  even  the 
total  want  of  dates,  almost  without  parallel  in  a Biographical 
work.  So  enigmatic,  so  chaotic  we  have  always  found,  and 
must  always  look  to  find,  these  scattered  Leaves.  In  Sagit- 
tarius, however,  Teufelsdrockh  begins  to  show  himself  even 
more  than  usually  Sibylline  : fragments  of  all  sorts ; scraps  of 
regular  Memoir,  College-Exercises,  Programs,  Professional 
Testimoniums,  Milkscores,  torn  Billets,  sometimes  to  appear- 
ance of  an  amatory  cast ; all  blown  together  as  if  by  merest 
chance,  henceforth  bewilder  the  sane  Historian.  To  combine 
any  picture  of  these  University,  and  the  subsequent,  years ; 
much  more,  to  decipher  therein  any  illustrative  primordial 
elements  of  the  Clothes-Philosophy,  becomes  such  a problem 
as  the  reader  may  imagine. 

So  much  we  can  see ; darkly,  as  through  the  foliage  of 
some  wavering  thicket : a youth  of  no  common  endowment, 
who  has  passed  happily  through  Childhood,  less  happily  yet 
still  vigorously  through  Boyhood,  now  at  length  perfect  in 
4 dead  vocables,’  and  set  down,  as  he  hopes,  by  the  living 
Fountain,  there  to  superadd  Ideas  and  Capabilities.  From 
such  Fountain  he  draws,  diligently,  thirstily,  yet  never  or 
seldom  with  his  whole  heart,  for  the  water  nowise  suits  his 
palate ; discouragements,  entanglements,  aberrations  are  dis- 
coverable or  supposable.  Nor  perhaps  are  even  pecuniary 
distresses  wanting ; for  6 the  good  Gretchen,  who  in  spite  of 
advices  from  not  disinterested  relatives  has  sent  him  hither, 
must  after  a time  withdraw  her  willing  but  too  feeble  hand.’ 
Nevertheless  in  an  atmosphere  of  Poverty  and  manifold 
Chagrin,  the  Humour  of  that  young  Soul,  what  character  is 
in  him,  first  decisively  reveals  itself ; and,  like  strong  sunshine 
in  weeping  skies,  gives  out  variety  of  colours,  some  of  which 
are  prismatic.  Thus,  with  the  aid  of  Time  and  of  what 
Time  brings,  has  the  stripling  Diogenes  Teufelsdrockh  waxed 


88 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

into  manly  stature ; and  into  so  questionable  an  aspect,  that 
we  ask  with  new  eagerness,  How  he  specially  came  by  it,  and 
regret  anew  that  there  is  no  more  explicit  answer.  Certain 
of  the  intelligible  and  partially  significant  fragments,  which 
are  few  in  number,  shall  be  extracted  from  that  Limbo  of  a 
Paper-bag,  and  presented  with  the  usual  preparation. 

As  if,  in  the  Bag  Scorpio,  Teufelsdrockh  had  not  already 
expectorated  his  antipedagogic  spleen ; as  if,  from  the  name 
Sagittarius,  he  had  thought  himself  called  upon  to  shoot 
arrows,  we  here  again  fall-in  with  such  matter  as  this  : ‘ The 
University  where  I was  educated  still  stands  vivid  enough  in 
my  remembrance,  and  I know  its  name  well ; which  name, 
however,  I,  from  tenderness  to  existing  interests  and  persons, 
shall  in  nowise  divulge.  It  is  my  painful  duty  to  say  that, 
out  of  England  and  Spain,  ours  was  the  worst  of  all  hitherto 
discovered  Universities.  This  is  indeed  a time  when  right 
Education  is,  as  nearly  as  may  be,  impossible : however,  in 
degrees  of  wrongness  there  is  no  limit : nay,  I can  conceive  a 
worse  system  than  that  of  the  Nameless  itself ; as  poisoned 
victual  may  be  worse  than  absolute  hunger. 

‘ It  is  written,  When  the  blind  lead  the  blind,  both  shall 
fall  into  the  ditch  : wherefore,  in  such  circumstances,  may  it 
not  sometimes  be  safer,  if  both  leader  and  lead  simply — sit 
still  ? Had  you,  anywhere  in  Crim  Tartary,  walled-in  a 
square  enclosure;  furnished  it  with  a small,  ill-chosen  Library; 
and  then  turned  loose  into  it  eleven-hundred  Christian  strip- 
lings, to  tumble  about  as  they  listed,  from  three  to  seven 
years  : certain  persons,  under  the  title  of  Professors,  being 
stationed  at  the  gates,  to  declare  aloud  that  it  was  a 
University,  and  exact  considerable  admission-fees, — you  had, 
not  indeed  in  mechanical  structure,  yet  in  spirit  and  result, 
some  imperfect  resemblance  of  our  High  Seminary.  I say, 
imperfect ; for  if  our  mechanical  structure  was  quite  other,  so 
neither  was  our  result  altogether  the  same  : unhappily,  we 
were  not  in  Crim  Tartary,  but  in  a corrupt  European  city, 
full  of  smoke  and  sin ; moreover,  in  the  middle  of  a Public, 


PEDAGOGY 


89 


CHAP.  III.] 

which,  without  far  costlier  apparatus  than  that  of  the  Square 
Enclosure,  and  Declaration  aloud,  you  could  not  be  sure  of 
gulling. 

‘ Gullible,  however,  by  fit  apparatus,  all  Publics  are ; 
and  gulled,  with  the  most  surprising  profit.  Towards  any- 
thing like  a Statistics  of  Imposture,  indeed,  little  as  yet  has 
been  done  : with  a strange  indifference,  our  Economists,  nigh 
buried  under  Tables  for  minor  Branches  of  Industry,  have 
altogether  overlooked  the  grand  all-overtopping  Hypocrisy 
Branch  ; as  if  our  whole  arts  of  Puffery,  of  Quackery,  Priest- 
craft, Kingcraft,  and  the  innumerable  other  crafts  and 
mysteries  of  that  genus,  had  not  ranked  in  Productive 
Industry  at  all  ! Can  any  one,  for  example,  so  much  as  say, 
What  moneys,  in  Literature  and  Shoeblacking,  are  realised 
by  actual  instruction  and  actual  jet  Polish  ; what  by  fictitious- 
persuasive  Proclamation  of  such  ; specifying,  in  distinct  items, 
the  distributions,  circulations,  disbursements,  incomings  of  said 
moneys,  with  the  smallest  approach  to  accuracy  ? But  to 
ask,  How  far,  in  all  the  several  infinitely-complected  depart- 
ments of  social  business,  in  government,  education,  in  manual, 
commercial,  intellectual  fabrication  of  every  sort,  man’s  Want 
is  supplied  by  true  Ware ; how  far  by  the  mere  Appearance 
of  true  Ware  : — in  other  words,  To  what  extent,  by  what 
methods,  with  what  effects,  in  various  times  and  countries, 
Deception  takes  the  place  of  wages  of  Performance  : here  truly 
is  an  Inquiry  big  with  results  for  the  future  time,  but  to  which 
hitherto  only  the  vaguest  answer  can  be  given.  If  for  the 
present,  in  our  Europe,  we  estimate  the  ratio  of  Ware  to 
Appearance  of  Ware  so  high  even  as  at  One  to  a Hundred 
(which,  considering  the  Wages  of  a Pope,  Russian  Autocrat, 
or  English  Game-Preserver,  is  probably  not  far  from  the 
mark), — what  almost  prodigious  saving  may  there  not  be 
anticipated,  as  the  Statistics  of  Imposture  advances,  and  so  the 
manufacturing  of  Shams  (that  of  Realities  rising  into  clearer 
and  clearer  distinction  therefrom)  gradually  declines,  and  at 
length  becomes  all  but  wholly  unnecessary  ! 


90 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

‘ This  for  the  coming  golden  ages.  What  I had  to  remark, 
for  the  present  brazen  one,  is,  that  in  several  provinces,  as  in 
Education,  Polity,  Religion,  where  so  much  is  wanted  and  in- 
dispensable, and  so  little  can  as  yet  be  furnished,  probably 
Imposture  is  of  sanative,  anodyne  nature,  and  man’s  Gulli- 
bility not  his  worst  blessing.  Suppose  your  sinews  of  war 
quite  broken ; I mean  your  military  chest  insolvent,  forage  all 
but  exhausted ; and  that  the  whole  army  is  about  to  mutiny, 
disband,  and  cut  your  and  each  other’s  throat, — then  were  it 
not  well  could  you,  as  if  by  miracle,  pay  them  in  any  sort  of 
fairy-money,  feed  them  on  coagulated  water,  or  mere  imagina- 
tion of  meat  ; whereby,  till  the  real  supply  came  up,  they 
might  be  kept  together  and  quiet  ? Such  perhaps  was  the 
aim  of  Nature,  who  does  nothing  without  aim,  in  furnishing 
her  favourite,  Man,  with  this  his  so  omnipotent  or  rather 
omnipatient  Talent  of  being  Gulled. 

‘ How  beautifully  it  works,  with  a little  mechanism  ; nay, 
almost  makes  mechanism  for  itself ! These  Professors  in  the 
Nameless  lived  with  ease,  with  safety,  by  a mere  Reputation, 
constructed  in  past  times,  and  then  too  with  no  great  effort, 
by  quite  another  class  of  persons.  Which  Reputation,  like  a 
strong,  brisk-going  undershot  wheel,  sunk  into  the  general  cur- 
rent, bade  fair,  with  only  a little  annual  repainting  on  their 
part,  to  hold  long  together,  and  of  its  own  accord  assiduously 
grind  for  them.  Happy  that  it  was  so,  for  the  Millers ! 
They  themselves  needed  not  to  work ; their  attempts  at 
working,  at  what  they  called  Educating,  now  when  I look  back 
on  it,  fill  me  with  a certain  mute  admiration. 

‘Besides  all  this,  we  boasted  ourselves  a Rational  University; 
in  the  highest  degree  hostile  to  Mysticism  ; thus  was  the  young 
vacant  mind  furnished  with  much  talk  about  Progress  of  the 
Species,  Dark  Ages,  Prejudice,  and  the  like ; so  that  all  were 
quickly  enough  blown  out  into  a state  of  windy  argumentative- 
ness ; whereby  the  better  sort  had  soon  to  end  in  sick,  impo- 
tent Scepticism ; the  worser  sort  explode  (crepiren)  in  finished 
Self-conceit,  and  to  all  spiritual  intents  become  dead. — But 


PEDAGOGY 


91 


CHAP.  III.] 

this  too  is  portion  of  mankind’s  lot.  If  our  era  is  the  Era  of 
Unbelief,  why  murmur  under  it ; is  there  not  a better  coming, 
nay  come  ? As  in  long-drawn  systole  and  long-drawn  diastole, 
must  the  period  of  Faith  alternate  with  the  period  of  Denial ; 
must  the  vernal  growth,  the  summer  luxuriance  of  all  Opinions, 
Spiritual  Representations  and  Creations,  be  followed  by,  and 
again  follow,  the  autumnal  decay,  the  winter  dissolution.  For 
man  lives  in  Time,  has  his  whole  earthly  being,  endeavour  and 
destiny  shaped  for  him  by  Time  : only  in  the  transitory  Time- 
Symbol  is  the  ever-motionless  Eternity  we  stand  on  made 
manifest.  And  yet,  in  such  winter-seasons  of  Denial,  it  is  for 
the  nobler-minded  perhaps  a comparative  misery  to  have  been 
born,  and  to  be  awake  and  work ; and  for  the  duller  a felicity, 
if,  like  hibernating  animals,  safe-lodged  in  some  Salamanca 
University,  or  Sybaris  City,  or  other  superstitious  or  voluptu- 
ous Castle  of  Indolence,  they  can  slumber-through  in  stupid 
dreams,  and  only  awaken  when  the  loud-roaring  hailstorms 
have  all  done  their  work,  and  to  our  prayers  and  martyrdoms 
the  new  Spring  has  been  vouchsafed.’ 

That  in  the  environment,  here  mysteriously  enough  shadowed 
forth  Teufelsdrockh  must  have  felt  ill  at  ease,  cannot  be 
doubtful.  ‘ The  hungry  young,’  he  says,  1 looked  up  to  their 
spiritual  Nurses  ; and,  for  food,  were  bidden  eat  the  east-wind. 
What  vain  jargon  of  controversial  Metaphysic,  Etymology,  and 
mechanical  Manipulation  falsely  named  Science,  was  current 
there,  I indeed  learned,  better  perhaps  than  the  most.  Among 
eleven-hundred  Christian  youths,  there  will  not  be  wanting 
some  eleven  eager  to  learn.  By  collision  with  such,  a certain 
warmth,  a certain  polish  was  communicated ; by  instinct  and 
happy  accident,  I took  less  to  rioting  ( renommiren ),  than  to 
thinking  and  reading,  which  latter  also  I was  free  to  do.  Nay 
from  the  chaos  of  that  Library,  I succeeded  in  fishing-up  more 
books  perhaps  than  had  been  known  to  the  very  keepers 
thereof.  The  foundation  of  a Literary  Life  was  hereby  laid : 
I learned,  on  my  own  strength,  to  read  fluently  in  almost  all 
cultivated  languages,  on  almost  all  subjects  and  sciences ; 


92 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

farther,  as  man  is  ever  the  prime  object  to  man,  already  it 
was  my  favourite  employment  to  read  character  in  speculation, 
and  from  the  Writing  to  construe  the  Writer.  A certain 
groundplan  of  Human  Nature  and  Life  began  to  fashion  itself 
in  me ; wondrous  enough,  now  when  I look  back  on  it ; for 
my  whole  Universe,  physical  and  spiritual,  was  as  yet  a 
Machine  ! However,  such  a conscious,  recognised  groundplan, 
the  truest  I had,  was  beginning  to  be  there,  and  by  additional 
experiments  might  be  corrected  and  indefinitely  extended.’ 

Thus  from  poverty  does  the  strong  educe  nobler  wealth ; 
thus  in  the  destitution  of  the  wild  desert  does  our  young 
Ishmael  acquire  for  himself  the  highest  of  all  possessions,  that 
of  Self-help.  Nevertheless  a desert  this  was,  waste,  and  howl- 
ing with  savage  monsters.  Teufelsdrockh  gives  us  long  details 
of  his  4 fever-paroxysms  of  Doubt’;  his  Inquiries  concerning 
Miracles,  and  the  Evidences  of  religious  Faith ; and  how  4 in 
the  silent  night-watches,  still  darker  in  his  heart  than  over 
sky  and  earth,  he  has  cast  himself  before  the  All-seeing,  and 
with  audible  prayers  cried  vehemently  for  Light,  for  deliver- 
ance from  Death  and  the  Grave.  Not  till  after  long  years, 
and  unspeakable  agonies,  did  the  believing  heart  surrender ; 
sink  into  spell-bound  sleep,  under  the  nightmare,  Unbelief ; 
and,  in  this  hag-ridden  dream,  mistake  God’s  fair  living  world 
for  a pallid,  vacant  Hades  and  extinct  Pandemonium.  But 
through  such  Purgatory  pain,’  continues  he,  4 it  is  appointed 
us  to  pass ; first  must  the  dead  Letter  of  Religion  own  itself 
dead,  and  drop  piecemeal  into  dust,  if  the  living  Spirit  of 
Religion,  freed  from  this  its  charnel-house,  is  to  arise  on  us, 
newborn  of  Heaven,  and  with  new  healing  under  its  wings.’ 

To  which  Purgatory  pains,  seemingly  severe  enough,  if  we 
add  a liberal  measure  of  Earthly  distresses,  want  of  practical 
guidance,  want  of  sympathy,  want  of  money,  want  of  hope ; 
and  all  this  in  the  fervid  season  of  youth,  so  exaggerated  in 
imagining,  so  boundless  in  desires,  yet  here  so  poor  in 
means, — do  we  not  see  a strong  incipient  spirit  oppressed  and 
overloaded  from  without  and  from  within ; the  fire  of  genius 


PEDAGOGY 


CHAP.  III.] 


95 


struggling-up  among  fuel-wood  of  the  greenest,  and  as  yet 
with  more  of  bitter  vapour  than  of  clear  flame  ? 

From  various  fragments  of  Letters  and  other  documentary 
scraps,  it  is  to  be  inferred  that  Teufelsdrockh,  isolated,  shy, 
retiring  as  he  was,  had  not  altogether  escaped  notice ; 
certain  established  men  are  aware  of  his  existence ; and,  if 
stretching-out  no  helpful  hand,  have  at  least  their  eyes  on 
him.  He  appears,  though  in  dreary  enough  humour,  to  be 
addressing  himself  to  the  Profession  of  Law ; — whereof, 
indeed,  the  world  has  since  seen  him  a public  graduate.  But 
omitting  these  broken,  unsatisfactory  thrums  of  Economical 
relation,  let  us  present  rather  the  following  small  thread  of 
Moral  relation  ; and  therewith,  the  reader  for  himself  weaving 
it  in  at  the  right  place,  conclude  our  dim  arras-picture  of 
these  University  years. 

‘ Here  also  it  was  that  I formed  acquaintance  with  Herr 
Towgood,  or,  as  it  is  perhaps  better  written,  Herr  Toughgut ; 
a young  person  of  quality  (von  Adel),  from  the  interior  parts 
of  England.  He  stood  connected,  by  blood  and  hospitality, 
with  the  Counts  von  Zahdarm,  in  this  quarter  of  Germany ; 
to  which  noble  Family  I likewise  was,  by  his  means,  with  all 
friendliness,  brought  near.  Towgood  had  a fair  talent, 
unspeakably  ill-cultivated ; with  considerable  humour  of 
character : and,  bating  his  total  ignorance,  for  he  knew 
nothing  except  Boxing  and  a little  Grammar,  showed  less  of 
that  aristocratic  impassivity,  and  silent  fury,  than  for  most 
part  belongs  to  Travellers  of  his  nation.  To  him  I owe  my 
first  practical  knowledge  of  the  English  and  their  ways ; per- 
haps also  something  of  the  partiality  with  which  I have  ever 
since  regarded  that  singular  people.  Towgood  was  not  with- 
out an  eye,  could  he  have  come  at  any  light.  Invited 
doubtless  by  the  presence  of  the  Zahdarm  Family,  he  had 
travelled  hither,  in  the  almost  frantic  hope  of  perfecting  his 
studies ; he,  whose  studies  had  as  yet  been  those  of  infancy, 
hither  to  a University  where  so  much  as  the  notion  of  per- 
fection, not  to  say  the  effort  after  it,  no  longer  existed  ! Often 


94 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

we  would  condole  over  the  hard  destiny  of  the  Young  in  this 
era : how,  after  all  our  toil,  we  were  to  be  turned-out  into 
the  world,  with  beards  on  our  chins  indeed,  but  with  few 
other  attributes  of  manhood  ; no  existing  thing  that  we  were 
trained  to  Act  on,  nothing  that  we  could  so  much  as  Believe. 
“ How  has  our  head  on  the  outside  a polished  Hat,1’  would 
Towgood  exclaim,  “ and  in  the  inside  Vacancy,  or  a froth  of 
Vocables  and  Attorney-Logic ! At  a small  cost  men  are 
educated  to  make  leather  into  shoes ; but  at  a great  cost, 
what  am  I educated  to  make  P By  Heaven,  Brother  ! what  I 
have  already  eaten  and  worn,  as  I came  thus  far,  would  endow 
a considerable  Hospital  of  Incurables.'” — “ Man,  indeed, ” I 
would  answer,  “ has  a Digestive  Faculty,  which  must  be  kept 
working,  were  it  even  partly  by  stealth.  But  as  for  our  Mis- 
education,  make  not  bad  worse ; waste  not  the  time  yet  ours, 
in  trampling  on  thistles  because  they  have  yielded  us  no  figs. 
Frisch  zu,  Bruder  ! Here  are  Books,  and  we  have  brains  to 
read  them ; here  is  a whole  Earth  and  a whole  Heaven,  and 
we  have  eyes  to  look  on  them  : Frisch  zu  ! 11 

‘ Often  also  our  talk  was  gay ; not  without  brilliancy,  and 
even  fire.  We  looked-out  on  Life,  with  its  strange  scaffolding, 
where  all  at  once  harlequins  dance,  and  men  are  beheaded  and 
quartered  : motley,  not  untemfic  was  the  aspect;  but  we  looked 
on  it  like  brave  youths.  For  myself,  these  were  perhaps  my 
most  genial  hours.  Towards  this  young  warmhearted,  strong- 
headed and  wrongheaded  Herr  Towgood  I was  even  near 
experiencing  the  now  obsolete  sentiment  of  Friendship.  Yes, 
foolish  Heathen  that  I was,  I felt  that,  under  certain  condi- 
tions, I could  have  loved  this  man,  and  taken  him  to  my 
bosom,  and  been  his  brother  once  and  always.  By  degrees, 
however,  I understood  the  new  time,  and  its  wants.  If  man’s 
Soul  is  indeed,  as  in  the  Finnish  Language,  and  Utilitarian 
Philosophy,  a kind  of  Stomach,  what  else  is  the  true  meaning 
of  Spiritual  Union  but  an  Eating  together  ? Thus  we,  instead 
of  Friends,  are  Dinner-guests ; and  here  as  elsewhere  have 
cast  away  chimeras.’ 


95 


CHAP.  IV.]  GETTING  UNDER  WAY 

So  ends,  abruptly  as  is  usual,  and  enigmatically,  this  little 
incipient  romance.  What  henceforth  becomes  of  the  brave 
Herr  Towgood,  or  Toughgut  ? He  has  dived-under,  in  the 
Autobiographical  Chaos,  and  swims  we  see  not  where.  Does 
any  reader  ‘ in  the  interior  parts  of  England 1 know  of  such  a 
man  ? 


CHAPTER  IV 
GETTING  UNDER  WAY 

The  grand  thaumaturgic  Art  of  Thought.  Difficulty  in  fitting  Capability 
to  Opportunity,  or  of  getting  under  way.  The  advantage  of  Hunger  and 
Bread-Studies.  Teufelsdrockh  has  to  enact  the  stern  monodrama  of  No 
object  and  no  rest.  Sufferings  as  Auscultator.  Given  up  as  a man  of 
genius.  Zahdarm  House.  Intolerable  presumption  of  young  men.  Irony 
and  its  consequences.  Teufelsdrockh’s  Epitaph  on  Count  Zahdarm. 

‘ Thus  nevertheless,’  writes  our  Autobiographer,  apparently  as 
quitting  College,  £ was  there  realised  Somewhat ; namely,  I, 
Diogenes  Teufelsdrockh  : a visible  Temporary  Figure  ( Zeit - 
bild),  occupying  some  cubic  feet  of  Space,  and  containing 
within  it  Forces  both  physical  and  spiritual ; hopes,  passions, 
thoughts  ; the  whole  wondrous  furniture,  in  more  or  less  per- 
fection, belonging  to  that  mystery,  a Man.  Capabilities 
there  were  in  me  to  give  battle,  in  some  small  degree,  against 
the  great  Empire  of  Darkness  : does  not  the  very  Ditcher  and 
Delver,  with  his  spade,  extinguish  many  a thistle  and  puddle ; 
and  so  leave  a little  Order,  where  he  found  the  opposite  ? Nay 
your  very  Daymoth  has  capabilities  in  this  kind ; and  ever 
organises  something  (into  its  own  Body,  if  no  otherwise), 
which  was  before  Inorganic ; and  of  mute  dead  air  makes 
living  music,  though  only  of  the  faintest,  by  humming. 

‘ How  much  more,  one  whose  capabilities  are  spiritual ; who 
has  learned,  or  begun  learning,  the  grand  thaumaturgic  art  of 
Thought  ! Thaumaturgic  I name  it ; for  hitherto  all  Miracles 
have  been  wrought  thereby,  and  henceforth  innumerable  will 


96 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

be  wrought ; whereof  we,  even  in  these  days,  witness  some.  Of 
the  Poet’s  and  Prophet’s  inspired  Message,  and  how  it  makes 
and  unmakes  whole  worlds,  I shall  forbear  mention  : but 
cannot  the  dullest  hear  Steam-Engines  clanking  around  him  ? 
Has  he  not  seen  the  Scottish  Brassmith’s  Idea  (and  this  but  a 
mechanical  one)  travelling  on  fire-wings  round  the  Cape,  and 
across  two  Oceans ; and  stronger  than  any  other  Enchanter’s 
Familiar,  on  all  hands  unweariedly  fetching  and  carrying : at 
home,  not  only  weaving  Cloth ; but  rapidly  enough  overturn- 
ing the  whole  old  system  of  Society ; and,  for  Feudalism  and 
Preservation  of  the  Game,  preparing  us,  by  indirect  but  sure 
methods,  Industrialism  and  the  Government  of  the  Wisest  ? 
Truly  a Thinking  Man  is  the  worst  enemy  the  Prince  of 
Darkness  can  have ; every  time  such  a one  announces  himself, 
I doubt  not,  there  runs  a shudder  through  the  Nether 
Empire  ; and  new  Emissaries  are  trained,  with  new  tactics,  to, 
if  possible,  entrap  him,  and  hoodwink  and  handcuff  him. 

‘With  such  high  vocation  had  I too,  as  denizen  of  the 
Universe,  been  called.  Unhappy  it  is,  however,  that  though 
born  to  the  amplest  Sovereignty,  in  this  way,  with  no  less 
than  sovereign  right  of  Peace  and  War  against  the  Time- 
Prince  ( Zeitfilrst ),  or  Devil,  and  all  his  Dominions,  your 
coronation-ceremony  costs  such  trouble,  your  sceptre  is  so 
difficult  to  get  at,  or  even  to  get  eye  on ! ’ 

By  which  last  wii’edrawn  similitude  does  Teufelsdrockh 
mean  no  more  than  that  young  men  find  obstacles  in  what  we 
call  ‘ getting  under  way’  ? ‘ Not  what  I Have,’  continues  he, 

‘ but  what  I Do  is  my  Kingdom.  To  each  is  given  a certain 
inward  Talent,  a certain  outward  Environment  of  Fortune  ; to 
each,  by  wisest  combination  of  these  two,  a certain  maximum 
of  Capability.  But  the  hardest  problem  were  ever  this  first : 
To  find  by  study  of  yourself,  and  of  the  ground  you  stand  on, 
what  your  combined  inward  and  outward  Capability  specially 
is.  For,  alas,  our  young  soul  is  all  budding  with  Capabilities, 
and  we  see  not  yet  which  is  the  main  and  true  one.  Always 
too  the  new  man  is  in  a new  time,  under  new  conditions  ; his 


97 


chap,  iv.]  GETTING  UNDER  WAY 

course  can  be  the  facsimile  of  no  prior  one,  but  is  by  its  nature 
original.  And  then  how  seldom  will  the  outward  Capability 
fit  the  inward  : though  talented  wonderfully  enough,  we  are 
poor,  unfriended,  dyspeptical,  bashful ; nay  what  is  worse 
than  all,  we  are  foolish.  Thus,  in  a whole  imbroglio  of 
Capabilities,  we  go  stupidly  groping  about,  to  grope  which  is 
ours,  and  often  clutch  the  wrong  one  : in  this  mad  work  must 
several  years  of  our  small  term  be  spent,  till  the  purblind 
Youth,  by  practice,  acquire  notions  of  distance,  and  become  a 
seeing  Man.  Nay,  many  so  spend  their  whole  term,  and  in 
ever-new  expectation,  ever-new  disappointment,  shift  from 
enterprise  to  enterprise,  and  from  side  to  side  : till  at  length, 
as  exasperated  striplings  of  threescore-and-ten,  they  shift  into 
their  last  enterprise,  that  of  getting  buried. 

4 Such,  since  the  most  of  us  are  too  ophthalmic,  would  be 
the  general  fate ; were  it  not  that  one  thing  saves  us  : our 
Hunger.  For  on  this  ground,  as  the  prompt  nature  of 
Hunger  is  well  known,  must  a prompt  choice  be  made  : hence 
have  we,  with  wise  foresight,  Indentures  and  Apprenticeships 
for  our  irrational  young ; whereby,  in  due  season,  the  vague 
universality  of  a Man  shall  find  himself  ready-moulded  into  a 
specific  Craftsman ; and  so  thenceforth  work,  with  much  or 
with  little  waste  of  Capability  as  it  may  be ; yet  not  with  the 
worst  waste,  that  of  time.  Nay  even  in  matters  spiritual, 
since  the  spiritual  artist  too  is  born  blind,  and  does  not,  like 
certain  other  creatures,  receive  sight  in  nine  days,  but  far 
later,  sometimes  never, — is  it  not  well  that  there  should  be 
what  we  call  Professions,  or  Bread-studies  ( Brodzwecke ),  pre- 
appointed us  ? Here,  circling  like  the  gin-horse,  for  whom 
partial  or  total  blindness  is  no  evil,  the  Bread-artist  can  travel 
contentedly  round  and  round,  still  fancying  that  it  is  forward 
and  forward ; and  realise  much : for  himself  victual ; for 
the  world  an  additional  horse’s  power  in  the  grand  corn-mill 
or  hemp-mill  of  Economic  Society.  For  me  too  had  such  a 
leading-string  been  provided ; only  that  it  proved  a neck- 
halter,  and  had  nigh  throttled  me,  till  I broke  it  off.  Then, 


G 


98 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n 

in  the  words  of  Ancient  Pistol,  did  the  world  generally 
become  mine  oyster,  which  I,  by  strength  or  cunning,  was 
to  open,  as  I would  and  could.  Almost  had  I deceased 
( fast  war  ich  umgekommen),  so  obstinately  did  it  continue 
shut.1 

We  see  here,  significantly  foreshadowed,  the  spirit  of  much 
that  was  to  befall  our  Autobiographer ; the  historical 
embodiment  of  which,  as  it  painfully  takes  shape  in  his  Life, 
lies  scattered,  in  dim  disastrous  details,  through  this  Bag 
Pisces,  and  those  that  follow.  A young  man  of  high  talent, 
and  high  though  still  temper,  like  a young  mettled  colt, 
‘ breaks-off  his  neck-halter,1  and  bounds  forth,  from  his 
peculiar  manger,  into  the  wide  world ; which,  alas,  he  finds 
all  rigorously  fenced-in.  Richest  clover-fields  tempt  his  eye ; 
but  to  him  they  are  forbidden  pasture  : either  pining  in  pro- 
gressive starvation,  he  must  stand ; or,  in  mad  exasperation, 
must  rush  to  and  fro,  leaping  against  sheer  stone-walls,  which 
he  cannot  leap  over,  which  only  lacerate  and  lame  him ; till 
at  last,  after  thousand  attempts  and  endurances,  he,  as  if  by 
miracle,  clears  his  way ; not  indeed  into  luxuriant  and  luxuri- 
ous clover,  yet  into  a certain  bosky  wilderness  where  existence 
is  still  possible,  and  Ereedom,  though  waited  on  by  Scarcity, 
is  not  without  sweetness.  In  a word,  Teufelsdrockh  having 
thrown-up  his  legal  Profession,  finds  himself  without  landmark 
of  outward  guidance ; whereby  his  previous  want  of  decided 
Belief,  or  inward  guidance,  is  frightfully  aggravated.  Necessity 
urges  him  on ; Time  will  not  stop,  neither  can  he,  a Son  of 
Time ; wild  passions  without  solacement,  wild  faculties  with- 
out employment,  ever  vex  and  agitate  him.  He  too  must 
enact  that  stern  Monodrama,  No  Object  and  no  Rest ; must 
front  its  successive  destinies,  work  through  to  its  catastrophe, 
and  deduce  therefrom  what  moral  he  can. 

Yet  let  us  be  just  to  him,  let  us  admit  that  his  4 neck- 
halter  1 sat  nowise  easy  on  him ; that  he  was  in  some  degree 
forced  to  break  it  off.  If  we  look  at  the  young  man’s  civic 
position,  in  this  Nameless  capital,  as  he  emerges  from  its 


99 


CHAP.  IV.]  GETTING  UNDER  WAY 

Nameless  University,  we  can  discern  well  that  it  was  far  from 
enviable.  His  first  Law-Examination  he  has  come  through 
triumphantly ; and  can  even  boast  that  the  Ex  amen  Rigorosum 
need  not  have  frightened  him  : but  though  he  is  hereby  ‘ an 
Ausaultator  of  respectability,’  what  avails  it  ? There  is  next 
to  no  employment  to  be  had.  Neither,  for  a youth  without 
connexions,  is  the  process  of  Expectation  very  hopeful  in 
itself ; nor  for  one  of  his  disposition  much  cheered  from 
without.  4 My  fellow  Auscultators,’  he  says,  4 were  Ausculta- 
tors  : they  dressed,  and  digested,  and  talked  articulate  Avords  ; 
other  vitality  showed  they  almost  none.  Small  speculation  in 
those  eyes,  that  they  did  glare  Avithal ! Sense  neither  for  the 
high  nor  for  the  deep,  nor  for  aught  human  or  divine,  save 
only  for  the  faintest  scent  of  coming  Preferment.’  In  which 
words,  indicating  a total  estrangement  on  the  part  of  Teufels- 
drockh,  may  there  not  also  lurk  traces  of  a bitterness  as  from 
Avounded  vanity  ? Doubtless  these  prosaic  Auscultators  may 
have  sniffed  at  him,  Avith  his  strange  Avays ; and  tried  to  hate, 
and  Avhat  Avas  much  more  impossible,  to  despise  him.  Friendly 
communion,  in  any  case,  there  could  not  be  : already  has  the 
young  Teufelsdrbckh  left  the  other  young  geese ; and  swims 
apart,  though  as  yet  uncertain  whether  he  himself  is  cygnet 
or  gosling. 

Perhaps,  too,  what  little  employment  he  had  Avas  performed 
ill,  at  best  unpleasantly.  4 Great  practical  method  and  ex- 
pertness’ he  may  brag  of ; but  is  there  not  also  great  practical 
pride,  though  deep-hidden,  only  the  deeper-seated  ? So  shy  a 
man  can  never  have  been  popular.  We  figure  to  ourselves, 
how  in  those  days  he  may  have  played  strange  freaks  with  his 
independence,  and  so  forth  : do  not  his  oavii  words  betoken  as 
much  ? 4 Like  a very  young  person,  I imagined  it  was  with 

Work  alone,  and  not  also  Avith  Folly  and  Sin,  in  myself  and 
others,  that  I had  been  appointed  to  struggle.’  Be  this  as  it 
may,  his  progress  from  the  passive  Auscultatorship,  toAvards 
any  active  Assessorship,  is  evidently  of  the  sloAvest.  By 
degrees,  those  same  established  men,  once  partially  inclined  to 


100 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

patronise  him,  seem  to  withdraw  their  countenance,  and  give 
him  up  as  4 a man  of  genius 1 : against  which  procedure  he,  in 
these  Papers,  loudly  protests.  4 As  if,’  says  he,  4 the  higher 
did  not  presuppose  the  lower ; as  if  he  who  can  fly  into 
heaven,  could  not  also  walk  post  if  he  resolved  on  it ! But 
the  world  is  an  old  woman,  and  mistakes  any  gilt  farthing  for 
a gold  coin ; whereby  being  often  cheated,  she  will  thence- 
forth trust  nothing  but  the  common  copper.’ 

How  our  winged  sky-messenger,  unaccepted  as  a terrestrial 
runner,  contrived,  in  the  mean  while,  to  keep  himself  from  fly- 
ing skyward  without  return,  is  not  too  clear  from  these  Docu- 
ments. Good  old  Gretchen  seems  to  have  vanished  from  the 
scene,  perhaps  from  the  Earth ; other  Horn  of  Plenty,  or  even 
of  Parsimony,  nowhere  flows  for  him  ; so  that  4 the  prompt 
nature  of  Hunger  being  well  known,’  we  are  not  without  our 
anxiety.  From  private  Tuition,  in  never  so  many  languages 
and  sciences,  the  aid  derivable  is  small ; neither,  to  use  his 
own  words,  4 does  the  young  Adventurer  hitherto  suspect  in 
himself  any  literary  gift ; but  at  best  earns  bread-and- water 
wages,  by  his  wide  faculty  of  Translation.  Nevertheless,’ 
continues  he,  4 that  I subsisted  is  clear,  for  you  find  me  even 
now  alive.’  Which  fact,  however,  except  upon  the  principle 
of  our  true-hearted,  kind  old  Proverb,  that  4 there  is  always 
life  for  a living  one,’  we  must  profess  ourselves  unable  to 
explain. 

Certain  Landlords’  Bills,  and  other  economic  Documents, 
bearing  the  mark  of  Settlement,  indicate  that  he  was  not  with- 
out money ; but,  like  an  independent  Hearth-holder,  if  not 
House-holder,  paid  his  way.  Here  also  occur,  among  many 
others,  two  little  mutilated  Notes,  which  perhaps  throw  light 
on  his  condition.  The  first  has  now  no  date,  or  writer’s 
name,  but  a huge  Blot ; and  runs  to  this  effect : 4 The 
{Inkblot),  tied-down  by  previous  promise,  cannot,  except  by 
best  wishes,  forward  the  Herr  Teufelsdrockh’s  views  on  the 
Assessorship  in  question ; and  sees  himself  under  the  cruel 
necessity  of  forbearing,  for  the  present,  what  were  otherwise 


101 


chap,  iv.]  GETTING  UNDER  WAY 

his  duty  and  joy,  to  assist  in  opening  the  career  for  a man 
of  genius,  on  whom  far  higher  triumphs  are  yet  waiting.’ 
The  other  is  on  gilt  paper ; and  interests  us  like  a sort  of 
epistolary  mummy  now  dead,  yet  which  once  lived  and  bene- 
ficently worked.  We  give  it  in  the  original : ‘ Herr  Teufels- 
drockh wird  von  der  Frau  Grafinn,  auf  Donnerstag,  zum 
^Esthetischen  Thee  schonstens  emgeladen? 

Thus,  in  answer  to  a cry  for  solid  pudding,  whereof  there  is 
the  most  urgent  need,  comes,  epigrammatically  enough,  the 
invitation  to  a wash  of  quite  fluid  ^Esthetic  Tea ! How 
Teufelsdrockh,  now  at  actual  handgrips  with  Destiny  herself, 
may  have  comported  himself  among  these  Musical  and 
Literary  Dilettanti  of  both  sexes,  like  a hungry  lion  invited 
to  a feast  of  chickenweed,  we  can  only  conjecture.  Perhaps 
in  expressive  silence,  and  abstinence : otherwise  if  the  lion,  in 
such  case,  is  to  feast  at  all,  it  cannot  be  on  the  chickenweed, 
but  only  on  the  chickens.  For  the  rest,  as  this  Frau  Grafinn 
dates  from  the  Zalidarm  House , she  can  be  no  other  than 
the  Countess  and  mistress  of  the  same ; whose  intellectual 
tendencies,  and  good-will  to  Teufelsdrockh,  whether  on  the 
footing  of  Herr  Towgood,  or  on  his  own  footing,  are  hereby 
manifest.  That  some  sort  of  relation,  indeed,  continued,  for 
a time,  to  connect  our  Autobiographer,  though  perhaps  feebly 
enough,  with  this  noble  House,  we  have  elsewhere  express 
evidence.  Doubtless,  if  he  expected  patronage,  it  was  in 
vain ; enough  for  him  if  he  here  obtained  occasional  glimpses 
of  the  great  world,  from  which  we  at  one  time  fancied  him  to 
have  been  always  excluded.  £ The  Zahdarms,’  says  he,  ‘ lived 
in  the  soft,  sumptuous  garniture  of  Aristocracy ; whereto 
Literature  and  Art,  attracted  and  attached  from  without, 
were  to  serve  as  the  handsomest  fringing.  It  was  to  the 
Gnadigen  Frau  (her  Ladyship)  that  this  latter  improvement 
was  due  : assiduously  she  gathered,  dextrously  she  fitted-on, 
what  fringing  was  to  be  had ; lace  or  cobweb,  as  the  place 
yielded.’  Was  Teufelsdrockh  also  a fringe,  of  lace  or  cobweb  ; 
or  promising  to  be  such  ? ‘ With  his  Excellenz  (the  Count),’ 


102 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

continues  he,  ‘ I have  more  than  once  had  the  honour  to 
converse ; chiefly  on  general  affairs,  and  the  aspect  of  the 
world,  which  he,  though  now  past  middle  life,  viewed  in  no 
unfavourable  light ; finding  indeed,  except  the  Outrooting  of 
Journalism  (die  auszurottende  Journalistic),  little  to  desiderate 
therein.  On  some  points,  as  his  Excdlenz  was  not  uncholeric, 
I found  it  more  pleasant  to  keep  silence.  Besides,  his  occupa- 
tion being  that  of  Owning  Land,  there  might  be  faculties 
enough,  which,  as  superfluous  for  such  use,  were  little 
developed  in  him.’ 

That  to  Teufelsdrockh  the  aspect  of  the  world  was  nowise 
so  faultless,  and  many  things  besides  ‘ the  Outrooting  of 
Journalism’  might  have  seemed  improvements,  we  can  readily 
conjecture.  With  nothing  but  a barren  Auscultatorship  from 
without,  and  so  many  mutinous  thoughts  and  wishes  from 
within,  his  position  was  no  easy  one.  ‘ The  Universe,’  he 
says,  ‘was  as  a mighty  Sphinx-riddle,  which  I knew  so  little  of, 
yet  must  rede,  or  be  devoured.  In  red  streaks  of  unspeakable 
grandeur,  yet  also  in  the  blackness  of  darkness,  was  Life,  to 
my  too-unfurnished  Thought,  unfolding  itself.  A strange 
contradiction  lay  in  me ; and  I as  yet  knew  not  the  solution 
of  it ; knew  not  that  spiritual  music  can  spring  only  from 
discords  set  in  harmony ; that  but  for  Evil  there  were  no 
Good,  as  victory  is  only  possible  by  battle.’ 

‘ I have  heard  affirmed  (surely  in  jest),’  observes  he  else- 
where, ‘ by  not  unphilanthropic  persons,  that  it  were  a real 
increase  of  human  happiness,  could  all  young  men  from  the 
age  of  nineteen  be  covered  under  barrels,  or  rendered  other- 
wise invisible ; and  there  left  to  follow  their  lawful  studies 
and  callings,  till  they  emerged,  sadder  and  wiser,  at  the  age 
of  twenty-five.  With  which  suggestion,  at  least  as  considered 
in  the  light  of  a practical  scheme,  I need  scarcely  say  that  I 
nowise  coincide.  Nevertheless  it  is  plausibly  urged  that,  as 
young  ladies  (Mddchen)  are,  to  mankind,  precisely  the  most 
delightful  in  those  years ; so  young  gentlemen  (Bubchen)  do 
then  attain  their  maximum  of  detestability.  Such  gawks 


103 


CHAP,  iv.]  GETTING  UNDER  WAY 

( Gecken ) are  they,  and  foolish  peacocks,  and  yet  with  such  a 
vulturous  hunger  for  self-indulgence ; so  obstinate,  obstreper- 
ous, vain-glorious ; in  all  senses,  so  fro  ward  and  so  forward. 
No  mortal’s  endeavour  or  attainment  will,  in  the  smallest, 
content  the  as  yet  unendeavouring,  unattaining  young 
gentleman ; but  he  could  make  it  all  infinitely  better,  were 
it  worthy  of  him.  Life  everywhere  is  the  most  manageable 
matter,  simple  as  a question  in  the  Rule-of-Three : multiply 
your  second  and  third  term  together,  divide  the  product  by 
the  first,  and  your  quotient  will  be  the  answer, — which  you 
are  but  an  ass  if  you  cannot  come  at.  The  booby  has  not 
yet  found-out,  by  any  trial,  that,  do  what  one  will,  there  is 
ever  a cursed  fraction,  oftenest  a decimal  repeater,  and  no  net 
integer  quotient  so  much  as  to  be  thought  of.’ 

In  which  passage  does  not  there  lie  an  implied  confession 
that  Teufelsdrockh  himself,  besides  his  outward  obstructions, 
had  an  inward,  still  greater,  to  contend  with ; namely,  a 
certain  temporary,  youthful,  yet  still  afflictive  derangement  of 
head  ? Alas,  on  the  former  side  alone,  his  case  was  hard 
enough.  £ It  continues  ever  true,’  says  he,  ‘ that  Saturn,  or 
Chronos,  or  what  we  call  Time,  devours  all  his  Children : 
only  by  incessant  Running,  by  incessant  Working,  may  you 
(for  some  threescore-and-ten  years)  escape  him ; and  you  too 
he  devours  at  last.  Can  any  Sovereign,  or  Holy  Alliance  of 
Sovereigns,  bid  Time  stand  still ; even  in  thought,  shake 
themselves  free  of  Time  ? Our  whole  terrestrial  being  is  based 
on  Time,  and  built  of  Time ; it  is  wholly  a Movement,  a 
Time-impulse ; Time  is  the  author  of  it,  the  material  of  it. 
Hence  also  our  Whole  Duty,  which  is  to  move,  to  work, — in 
the  right  direction.  Are  not  our  Bodies  and  our  Souls  in 
continual  movement,  whether  we  will  or  not ; in  a continual 
Waste,  requiring  a continual  Repair  ? Utmost  satisfaction 
of  our  whole  outward  and  inward  Wants  were  but  satisfaction 
for  a space  of  Time ; thus,  whatso  we  have  done,  is  done,  and 
for  us  annihilated,  and  ever  must  we  go  and  do  anew.  0 
Time-Spirit,  how  hast  thou  environed  and  imprisoned  us,  and 


104 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

sunk  us  so  deep  in  thy  troublous  dim  Time-Element,  that  only 
in  lucid  moments  can  so  much  as  glimpses  of  our  upper  Azure 
Home  be  revealed  to  us  ! Me,  however,  as  a Son  of  Time, 
unhappier  than  some  others,  was  Time  threatening  to  eat 
quite  prematurely ; for,  strive  as  I might,  there  was  no  good 
Running,  so  obstructed  was  the  path,  so  gyved  were  the  feet.’ 
That  is  to  say,  we  presume,  speaking  in  the  dialect  of  this 
lower  world,  that  Teufelsdrockh’s  whole  duty  and  necessity 
was,  like  other  men’s,  ‘ to  work, — in  the  right  direction,’  and 
that  no  work  was  to  be  had ; whereby  he  became  wretched 
enough.  As  was  natural : with  haggard  Scarcity  threatening 
him  in  the  distance ; and  so  vehement  a soul  languishing  in 
restless  inaction,  and  forced  thereby,  like  Sir  Hudibras’s  sword 
by  rust, 

To  eat  into  itself,  for  lack 

Of  something  else  to  hew  and  hack  ! 

But  on  the  whole,  that  same  ‘ excellent  Passivity,’  as  it  has 
all  along  done,  is  here  again  vigorously  flourishing ; in  which 
circumstance  may  we  not  trace  the  beginnings  of  much  that 
now  characterises  our  Professor ; and  perhaps,  in  faint  rudi- 
ments, the  origin  of  the  Clothes-Philosophy  itself?  Already 
the  attitude  he  has  assumed  towards  the  World  is  too  defensive; 
not,  as  would  have  been  desirable,  a bold  attitude  of  attack. 
‘ So  far  hitherto,’  he  says,  ‘ as  I had  mingled  with  mankind,  I 
was  notable,  if  for  anything,  for  a certain  stillness  of  manner, 
which,  as  my  friends  often  rebukingly  declared,  did  but  ill  ex- 
press the  keen  ardour  of  my  feelings.  I,  in  truth,  regarded 
men  with  an  excess  both  of  love  and  of  fear.  The  mystery  of 
a Person,  indeed,  is  ever  divine  to  him  that  has  a sense  for 
the  Godlike.  Often,  notwithstanding,  was  I blamed,  and  by 
half-strangers  hated,  for  my  so-called  Hardness  ( H'arte ),  my 
Indifferentism  towards  men ; and  the  seemingly  ironic  tone  I 
had  adopted,  as  my  favourite  dialect  in  conversation.  Alas, 
the  panoply  of  Sarcasm  was  but  as  a buckram  case,  wherein 
I had  striven  to  envelope  myself ; that  so  my  own  poor  Person 


105 


CHAP.  IV.]  GETTING  UNDER  WAY 

might  live  safe  there,  and  in  all  friendliness,  being  no  longer 
exasperated  by  wounds.  Sarcasm  I now  see  to  be,  in  general, 
the  language  of  the  Devil ; for  which  reason  I have  long  since 
as  good  as  renounced  it.  But  how  many  individuals  did  I,  in 
those  days,  provoke  into  some  degree  of  hostility  thereby  ! An 
ironic  man,  with  his  sly  stillness,  and  ambuscading  ways,  more 
especially  an  ironic  young  man,  from  whom  it  is  least  expected, 
may  be  viewed  as  a pest  to  society.  Have  we  not  seen 
persons  of  weight  and  name  coming  forward,  with  gentlest 
indifference,  to  tread  such  a one  out  of  sight,  as  an  insignifi- 
cancy and  worm,  start  ceiling-high  ( baTkenlioch ),  and  thence 
fall  shattered  and  supine,  to  be  borne  home  on  shutters, 
not  without  indignation,  when  he  proved  electric  and  a 
torpedo  ! ’ 

Alas,  how  can  a man  with  this  devilishness  of  temper  make 
way  for  himself  in  Life ; where  the  first  problem,  as  Teufels- 
drockh  too  admits,  is  4 to  unite  yourself  with  some  one  and 
with  somewhat  (sich  anzuschliessen ) ’ ? Division,  not  union,  is 
written  on  most  part  of  his  procedure.  Let  us  add  too  that, 
in  no  great  length  of  time,  the  only  important  connexion 
he  had  ever  succeeded  in  forming,  his  connexion  with  the 
Zahdarm  Family,  seems  to  have  been  paralysed,  for  all 
practical  uses,  by  the  death  of  the  4 not  uncholeric  ’ old  Count. 
This  fact  stands  recorded,  quite  incidentally,  in  a certain 
Discourse  on  Epitaphs,  huddled  into  the  present  Bag,  among 
so  much  else;  of  which  Essay  the  learning  and  curious  penetra- 
tion are  more  to  be  approved  of  than  the  spirit.  His  grand 
principle  is,  that  lapidary  inscriptions,  of  what  sort  soever, 
should  be  Historical  rather  than  Lyrical.  4 By  request  of 
that  worthy  Nobleman’s  survivors,’  says  he,  4 1 undertook  to 
compose  his  Epitaph ; and  not  unmindful  of  my  own  rules, 
produced  the  following ; which  however,  for  an  alleged  defect 
of  Latinity,  a defect  never  yet  fully  visible  to  myself,  still 
remains  unengraven ; ’ — wherein,  we  may  predict,  there  is 
more  than  the  Latinity  that  will  surprise  an  English 
reader : 


106 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

HIC  JACET 

PHILIPPUS  ZAEHDARM,  COGNOMINE  MAGNUS, 

ZAEHDARMI  COMES, 

EX  IMPERII  CONCILIO, 

VELLERIS  AUREI,  PERISCELIDIS,  NECNON  VULTURIS  NIGRI 
EQUES. 

am  DUM  SUB  LUNA  AGEBAT, 

QUINQUIES  MILLE  PERDICES 

PLUMBO  CONFECIT  : 

VARII  CIBI 

CENTUMPONDIA  MILLIES  CENTENA  MILLIA, 

PER  SE,  PERQ.UE  SERVOS  QUADRUPEDES  BIPEDESVE, 

HAUD  SINE  TUMULTU  DEVOLVENS, 

IN  STERCUS 

PALAM  CONVERTIT. 

NUNC  A LABORE  REQ.UIESGENTEM 
OPERA  SEaUUNTUR. 

SI  MONUMENTUM  QU/ERIS, 

FIMETUM  ADSPICE. 

PRIMUM  IN  ORBE  DEJECIT  dato ] ; POSTREMUM  [sub  dato ]. 


CHAPTER  V 

ROMANCE 

Teufelsdrockh  gives  up  his  Profession.  The  heavenly  mystery  of  Love. 
Teufelsdroclth’s  feeling  of  worship  towards  women.  First  and  only  love. 
Blumine.  Happy  hearts  and  free  tongues.  The  infinite  nature  of  Fantasy. 
Love’s  joyful  progress;  sudden  dissolution;  and  final  catastrophe. 

‘For  long  years,’  writes  Teufelsdrockh,  ‘had  the  poor 
Hebrew,  in  this  Egypt  of  an  Auscultatorship,  painfully  toiled, 
baking  bricks  without  stubble,  before  ever  the  question  once 
struck  him  with  entire  force  : For  what  ? — Beym  Himmel ! 


107 


chap,  v.]  ROMANCE 

For  Food  and  Warmth  ! And  are  Food  and  Warmth  nowhere 
else,  in  the  whole  wide  Universe,  discoverable  ? — Come  of  it 
what  might,  I resolved  to  try.’ 

Thus  then  are  we  to  see  him  in  a new  independent  capacity, 
though  perhaps  far  from  an  improved  one.  Teufelsdrockh  is 
now  a man  without  Profession.  Quitting  the  common  Fleet 
of  herring-busses  and  whalers,  where  indeed  his  leeward, 
laggard  condition  was  painful  enough,  he  desperately  steers 
off,  on  a course  of  his  own,  by  sextant  and  compass  of  his 
own.  Unhappy  Teufelsdrockh ! Though  neither  Fleet,  nor 
Traffic,  nor  Commodores  pleased  thee,  still  was  it  not  a Fleet, 
sailing  in  prescribed  track,  for  fixed  objects ; above  all,  in 
combination,  wherein,  by  mutual  guidance,  by  all  manner  of 
loans  and  borrowings,  each  could  manifoldly  aid  the  other  ? 
How  wilt  thou  sail  in  unknown  seas  ; and  for  thyself  find  that 
shorter  North-west  Passage  to  thy  fair  Spice-country  of  a 
Nowhere  ? — A solitary  rover,  on  such  a voyage,  with  such 
nautical  tactics,  will  meet  with  adventures.  Nay,  as  we  forth- 
with discover,  a certain  Calypso-Island  detains  him  at  the  very 
outset ; and  as  it  were  falsifies  and  oversets  his  whole  reckoning. 

‘ If  in  youth,’  writes  he  once,  ‘ the  Universe  is  majestically 
unveiling,  and  everywhere  Heaven  revealing  itself  on  Earth, 
nowhere  to  the  Young  Man  does  this  Heaven  on  Earth  so 
immediately  reveal  itself  as  in  the  Young  Maiden.  Strangely 
enough,  in  this  strange  life  of  ours,  it  has  been  so  appointed. 
On  the  whole,  as  I have  often  said,  a Person  ( Personlichkeit ) 
is  ever  holy  to  us ; a certain  orthodox  Anthropomorphism 
connects  my  Me  with  all  Tliees  in  bonds  of  Love : but  it  is 
in  this  approximation  of  the  Like  and  Unlike,  that  such 
heavenly  attraction,  as  between  Negative  and  Positive,  first 
bums-out  into  a flame.  Is  the  pitifullest  mortal  Person, 
think  you,  indifferent  to  us  ? Is  it  not  rather  our  heartfelt 
wish  to  be  made  one  with  him ; to  unite  him  to  us,  by 
gratitude,  by  admiration,  even  by  fear ; or  failing  all  these, 
unite  ourselves  to  him  ? But  how  much  more,  in  this  case  of 
the  Like-Unlike  ! Here  is  conceded  us  the  higher  mystic  possi- 


108 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  II. 

bility  of  such  a union,  the  highest  in  our  Earth ; thus,  in  the 
conducting  medium  of  Fantasy,  flames-forth  that  yiVe-develop- 
ment  of  the  universal  Spiritual  Electricity,  which,  as  unfolded 
between  man  and  woman,  we  first  emphatically  denominate 
Love. 

‘ In  every  well-conditioned  stripling,  as  I conjecture,  there 
already  blooms  a certain  prospective  Paradise,  cheered  by 
some  fairest  Eve ; nor,  in  the  stately  vistas,  and  flowerage 
and  foliage  of  that  Garden,  is  a Tree  of  Knowledge,  beautiful 
and  awful  in  the  midst  thereof,  wanting.  Perhaps  too  the 
whole  is  but  the  lovelier,  if  Cherubim  and  a Flaming  Sword 
divide  it  from  all  footsteps  of  men ; and  grant  him,  the 
imaginative  stripling,  only  the  view,  not  the  entrance.  Happy 
season  of  virtuous  youth,  when  shame  is  still  an  impassable 
celestial  barrier ; and  the  sacred  air-cities  of  Hope  have  not 
shrunk  into  the  mean  clay-hamlets  of  Reality ; and  man,  by 
his  nature,  is  yet  infinite  and  free  ! 

e As  for  our  young  Forlorn,’  continues  Teufelsdrockh,  evi- 
dently meaning  himself,  ‘ in  his  secluded  way  of  life,  and  with 
his  glowing  Fantasy,  the  more  fiery  that  it  burnt  under  cover, 
as  in  a reverberating  furnace,  his  feeling  towards  the  Queens 
of  this  Earth  was,  and  indeed  is,  altogether  unspeakable.  A 
visible  Divinity  dwelt  in  them ; to  our  young  Friend  all 
women  were  holy,  were  heavenly.  As  yet  he  but  saw  them 
flitting  past,  in  their  many-coloured  angel-plumage ; or 
hovering  mute  and  inaccessible  on  the  outskirts  of  ^Esthetic 
Tea : all  of  air  they  were,  all  Soul  and  Form ; so  lovely,  like 
mysterious  priestesses,  in  whose  hand  was  the  invisible 
Jacob’s-ladder,  whereby  man  might  mount  into  very  Heaven. 
That  he,  our  poor  Friend,  should  ever  win  for  himself  one  of 
these  Gracefuls  ( Holden ) — Ach  Gott ! how  could  he  hope  it; 
should  he  not  have  died  under  it  ? There  was  a certain 
delirious  vertigo  in  the  thought. 

4 Thus  was  the  young  man,  if  all-sceptical  of  Demons  and 
Angels  such  as  the  vulgar  had  once  believed  in,  nevertheless 
not  unvisited  by  hosts  of  true  Sky-born,  who  visibly  and 


ROMANCE 


109 


CHAP.  V.] 

audibly  hovered  round  him  wheresoever  he  went ; and  they 
had  that  religious  worship  in  his  thought,  though  as  yet  it 
was  by  their  mere  earthly  and  trivial  name  that  he  named 
them.  But  now,  if  on  a soul  so  circumstanced,  some  actual 
Air-maiden,  incorporated  into  tangibility  and  reality,  should 
cast  any  electric  glance  of  kind  eyes,  saying  thereby,  44  Thou 
too  mayst  love  and  be  loved  ” ; and  so  kindle  him, — good 
Heaven,  what  a volcanic,  earthquake-bringing,  all-consuming 
fire  were  probably  kindled  ! ’ 

Such  a fire,  it  afterwards  appears,  did  actually  burst-forth, 
with  explosions  more  or  less  Vesuvian,  in  the  inner  man  of 
Herr  Diogenes ; as  indeed  how  could  it  fail  ? A nature, 
which,  in  his  own  figurative  style,  we  might  say,  had  now  not 
a little  carbonised  tinder,  of  Irritability ; with  so  much  nitre 
of  latent  Passion,  and  sulphurous  Humour  enough  ; the  whole 
lying  in  such  hot  neighbourhood,  close  by  ‘a  revei'berating 
furnace  of  Fantasy  ’ : have  we  not  here  the  components  of 
driest  Gunpowder,  ready,  on  occasion  of  the  smallest  spark, 
to  blaze-up  ? Neither,  in  this  our  Life-element,  are  sparks 
anywhere  wanting.  Without  doubt,  some  Angel,  whereof  so 
many  hovered  round,  would  one  day,  leaving  4 the  outskirts  of 
^Esthetic  Tea ,’  flit  nigher ; and,  by  electric  Promethean  glance, 
kindle  no  despicable  firework.  Happy,  if  it  indeed  proved  a 
Firework,  and  flamed-off  rocket- wise,  in  successive  beautiful 
bursts  of  splendour,  each  growing  naturally  from  the  other, 
through  the  several  stages  of  a happy  Youthful  Love ; till 
the  whole  were  safely  burnt-out ; and  the  young  soul  relieved 
with  little  damage  ! Happy,  if  it  did  not  rather  prove  a 
Conflagration  and  mad  Explosion ; painfully  lacerating  the 
heart  itself ; nay  perhaps  bursting  the  heart  in  pieces  (which 
were  Death) ; or  at  best,  bursting  the  thin  walls  of  your 
4 reverberating  furnace,’  so  that  it  rage  thenceforth  all 
unchecked  among  the  contiguous  combustibles  (which  were 
Madness)  : till  of  the  so  fair  and  manifold  internal  world  of 
our  Diogenes,  there  remained  Nothing,  or  only  the  4 crater  of 
an  extinct  volcano  ’ ! 


110 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  II. 

From  multifarious  Documents  in  this  Bag  Capricornus,  and 
in  the  adjacent  ones  on  both  sides  thereof,  it  becomes  mani- 
fest that  our  philosopher,  as  stoical  and  cynical  as  he  now 
looks,  was  heartily  and  even  frantically  in  Love  : here  there- 
fore may  our  old  doubts  whether  his  heart  were  of  stone  or  of 
flesh  give  way.  He  loved  once ; not  wisely  but  too  well. 
And  once  only  : for  as  your  Congreve  needs  a new  case  or 
wrappage  for  every  new  rocket,  so  each  human  heart  can 
properly  exhibit  but  one  Love,  if  even  one ; the  4 First  Love 
which  is  infinite 1 can  be  followed  by  no  second  like  unto  it. 
In  more  recent  years,  accordingly,  the  Editor  of  these  Sheets 
was  led  to  regard  Teufelsdrockh  as  a man  not  only  who  would 
never  wed,  but  who  would  never  even  flirt ; whom  the  grand- 
climacteric  itself,  and  St  Martin! s Summer  of  incipient  Dotage, 
would  crown  with  no  new  myrtle-garland.  To  the  Professor, 
women  are  henceforth  Pieces  of  Art ; of  Celestial  Art,  indeed  ; 
which  celestial  pieces  he  glories  to  survey  in  galleries,  but  has 
lost  thought  of  purchasing. 

Psychological  readers  are  not  without  curiosity  to  see  how 
Teufelsdrockh,  in  this  for  him  unexampled  predicament, 
demeans  himself ; with  what  specialties  of  successive  configura- 
tion, splendour  and  colour,  his  Firework  blazes-off.  Small,  as 
usual,  is  the  satisfaction  that  such  can  meet  with  here.  From 
amid  these  confused  masses  of  Eulogy  and  Elegy,  with  their 
mad  Petrarchan  and  Werterean  ware  lying  madly  scattered 
among  all  sorts  of  quite  extraneous  matter,  not  so  much  as  the 
fair  one’s  name  can  be  deciphered.  For,  without  doubt,  the  title 
Blumine,  whereby  she  is  here  designated,  and  which  means 
simply  Goddess  of  Flowers,  must  be  fictitious.  Was  her  real 
name  Flora,  then  P But  what  was  her  surname,  or  had  she 
none  ? Of  what  station  in  Life  was  she  ; of  what  parentage, 
fortune,  aspect  ? Specially,  by  what  Preestablished  Harmony 
of  occurrences  did  the  Lover  and  the  Loved  meet  one  another 
in  so  wide  a world ; how  did  they  behave  in  such  a meeting  ? 
To  all  which  questions,  not  unessential  in  a Biographic  work, 
mere  Conjectui'e  must  for  most  part  return  answer.  ‘ It  was 


CHAP.  V.]  ROMANCE  111 

appointed,’  says  our  Philosopher,  4 that  the  high  celestial  orbit 
of  Blumine  should  intersect  the  low  sublunary  one  of  our 
Forlorn ; that  he,  looking  in  her  empyrean  eyes,  should  fancy 
the  upper  Sphere  of  Light  was  come  down  into  this  nether 
sphere  of  Shadows ; and  finding  himself  mistaken,  make  noise 
enough.’ 

We  seem  to  gather  that  she  was  young,  hazel-eyed,  beauti- 
ful, and  some  one’s  Cousin ; highborn,  and  of  high  spirit ; 
but  unhappily  dependent  and  insolvent ; living,  perhaps,  on 
the  not  too  gracious  bounty  of  moneyed  relatives.  But  how 
came  4 the  Wanderer  ’ into  her  circle  ? Was  it  by  the  humid 
vehicle  of  i Esthetic  Tea,  or  by  the  arid  one  of  mere  Business  ? 
Was  it  on  the  hand  of  Herr  Towgood ; or  of  the  Gnadige 
Frau,  who,  as  an  ornamental  Artist,  might  sometimes  like  to 
promote  flirtation,  especially  for  young  cynical  Nondescripts  ? 
To  all  appearance,  it  was  chiefly  by  Accident,  and  the  grace 
of  Nature. 

4 Thou  fair  Waldschloss,’  writes  our  Autobiographer,  4 what 
stranger  ever  saw  thee,  were  it  even  an  absolved  Auscultator, 
officially  bearing  in  his  pocket  the  last  Relatio  ex  Adis  he 
would  ever  write,  but  must  have  paused  to  wonder ! Noble 
Mansion  ! There  stoodest  thou,  in  deep  Mountain  Amphi- 
theatre, on  umbrageous  lawns,  in  thy  serene  solitude ; stately, 
massive,  all  of  granite ; glittering  in  the  western  sunbeams, 
like  a palace  of  El  Dorado,  overlaid  with  precious  metal. 
Beautiful  rose  up,  in  wavy  curvature,  the  slope  of  thy 
guardian  Hills ; of  the  greenest  was  their  sward,  embossed 
with  its  dark-brown  frets  of  crag,  or  spotted  by  some  spread- 
ing solitary  Tree  and  its  shadow.  To  the  unconscious  Way- 
farer thou  wert  also  as  an  Ammon’s  Temple,  in  the  Libyan 
Waste ; where,  for  joy  and  woe,  the  tablet  of  his  Destiny  lay 
written.  Well  might  he  pause  and  gaze ; in  that  glance  of 
his  were  prophecy  and  nameless  forebodings.’ 

But  now  let  us  conjecture  that  the  so  presentient  Auscul- 
tator has  handed-in  his  Relatio  ex  Adis ; been  invited  to  a 
glass  of  Rhine-wine ; and  so,  instead  of  returning  dispirited 


112 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  n. 

and  athirst  to  his  dusty  Town-home,  is  ushered  into  the 
Gardenhouse,  where  sit  the  choicest  party  of  dames  and 
cavaliers  : if  not  engaged  in  ^Esthetic  Tea,  yet  in  trustful 
evening  conversation,  and  perhaps  Musical  Coffee,  for  we  hear 
of  ‘ harps  and  pure  voices  making  the  stillness  live.’  Scarcely, 
it  would  seem,  is  the  Gardenhouse  inferior  in  respectability  to 
the  noble  mansion  itself.  ‘ Embowered  amid  rich  foliage, 
rose-clusters,  and  the  hues  and  odours  of  thousand  flowers, 
here  sat  that  brave  company ; in  front,  from  the  wide-opened 
doors,  fair  outlook  over  blossom  and  bush,  over  grove  and 
velvet  green,  stretching,  undulating  onwards  to  the  remote 
Mountain  peaks : so  bright,  so  mild,  and  everywhere  the 
melody  of  birds  and  happy  creatures  : it  was  all  as  if  man 
had  stolen  a shelter  from  the  Sun  in  the  bosom-vesture  of 
Summer  herself.  How  came  it  that  the  Wanderer  advanced 
thither  with  such  forecasting  heart  ( ahndungsvoll ),  by  the  side 
of  his  gay  host  ? Did  he  feel  that  to  these  soft  influences  his 
hard  bosom  ought  to  be  shut ; that  here,  once  more,  Fate  had 
it  in  view  to  try  him ; to  mock  him,  and  see  whether  there 
were  Humour  in  him  ? 

4 Next  moment  he  finds  himself  presented  to  the  party ; 
and  especially  by  name  to — Blumine  ! Peculiar  among  all 
dames  and  damosels  glanced  Blumine,  there  in  her  modesty, 
like  a star  among  earthly  lights.  Noblest  maiden  ! whom  he 
bent  to,  in  body  and  in  soul ; yet  scarcely  dared  look  at,  for 
the  presence  filled  him  with  painful  yet  sweetest  embarrass- 
ment. 

‘ Blumine’s  was  a name  well  known  to  him ; far  and  wide 
was  the  fair  one  heard  of,  for  her  gifts,  her  graces,  her 
caprices  : from  all  which  vague  colourings  of  Rumour,  from 
the  censures  no  less  than  from  the  praises,  had  our  friend 
painted  for  himself  a certain  imperious  Queen  of  Hearts,  and 
blooming  warm  Earth-angel,  much  more  enchanting  than 
your  mere  white  Heaven-angels  of  women,  in  whose  placid 
veins  circulates  too  little  naphtha-fire.  Herself  also  he  had 
seen  in  public  places ; that  light  yet  so  stately  form ; those 


ROMANCE 


113 


CHAP.  V.] 


dark  tresses,  shading  a face  where  smiles  and  sunlight  played 
over  earnest  deeps  : but  all  this  he  had  seen  only  as  a magic 
vision,  for  him  inaccessible,  almost  without  reality.  Her 
sphere  was  too  far  from  his  ; how  should  she  ever  think  of 
him ; 0 Heaven  ! how  should  they  so  much  as  once  meet 
together?  And  now  that  Rose -goddess  sits  in  the  same 
circle  with  him  ; the  light  of  her  eyes  has  smiled  on  him  ; 
if  he  speak,  she  will  hear  it ! Nay,  who  knows,  since  the 
heavenly  Sun  looks  into  lowest  valleys,  but  Blumine  herself 
might  have  aforetime  noted  the  so  unnotable ; perhaps,  from 
his  very  gainsayers,  as  he  had  from  hers,  gathered  wonder, 
gathered  favour  for  him  ? Was  the  attraction,  the  agitation 
mutual,  then ; pole  and  pole  trembling  towards  contact,  when 
once  brought  into  neighbourhood  ? Say  rather,  heart  swelling 
in  presence  of  the  Queen  of  Hearts ; like  the  Sea  swelling 
when  once  near  its  Moon  ! With  the  Wanderer  it  was  even 
so  : as  in  heavenward  gravitation,  suddenly  as  at  the  touch  of 
a Seraph’s  wand,  his  whole  soul  is  roused  from  its  deepest 
recesses ; and  all  that  was  painful  and  that  was  blissful  there, 
dim  images,  vague  feelings  of  a whole  Past  and  a whole 
Future,  are  heaving  in  unquiet  eddies  within  him. 

4 Often,  in  far  less  agitating  scenes,  had  our  still  Friend 
shrunk  forcibly  together ; and  shrouded-up  his  tremors  and 
flutterings,  of  what  sort  soever,  in  a safe  cover  of  Silence,  and 
perhaps  of  seeming  Stolidity.  How  was  it,  then,  that  here, 
when  trembling  to  the  core  of  his  heart,  he  did  not  sink  into 
swoons,  but  rose  into  strength,  into  fearlessness  and  clearness  ? 
It  was  his  guiding  Genius  {Damon)  that  inspired  him  ; he 
must  go  forth  and  meet  his  Destiny.  Show  thyself  now, 
whispered  it,  or  be  forever  hid.  Thus  sometimes  it  is  even 
when  your  anxiety  becomes  transcendental,  that  the  soul  first 
feels  herself  able  to  transcend  it ; that  she  rises  above  it,  in 
fiery  victory ; and  borne  on  new-found  wings  of  victory,  moves 
so  ^almly,  even  because  so  rapidly,  so  irresistibly.  Always 
must  the  Wanderer  remember,  with  a certain  satisfaction  and 
surprise,  how  in  this  case  he  sat  not  silent,  but  struck  adroitly 

H 


114 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  ii. 

into  the  stream  of  conversation ; which  thenceforth,  to  speak 
with  an  apparent  not  a real  vanity,  he  may  say  that  he 
continued  to  lead.  Surely,  in  those  hours,  a certain  inspira- 
tion was  imparted  him,  such  inspiration  as  is  still  possible  in 
our  late  era.  The  self-secluded  unfolds  himself  in  noble 
thoughts,  in  free,  glowing  words ; his  soul  is  as  one  sea  of 
light,  the  peculiar  home  of  Truth  and  Intellect ; wherein  also 
Fantasy  bodies-forth  form  after  form,  radiant  with  all 
prismatic  hues.’ 

It  appears,  in  this  otherwise  so  happy  meeting,  there  talked 
one  ‘ Philistine  1 ; who  even  now,  to  the  general  weariness,  was 
dominantly  pouring-forth  Philistinism  ( Philistriosltdten ) ; little 
witting  what  hero  was  here  entering  to  demolish  him  ! We 
omit  the  series  of  Socratic,  or  rather  Diogenic  utterances,  not 
unhappy  in  their  way,  whereby  the  monster,  ‘ persuaded  into 
silence,1  seems  soon  after  to  have  withdrawn  for  the  night. 
‘ Of  which  dialectic  marauder,1  writes  our  hero,  ‘ the  discomfi- 
ture was  visibly  felt  as  a benefit  by  most : but  what  were  all 
applauses  to  the  glad  smile,  threatening  every  moment  to 
become  a laugh,  wherewith  Blumine  herself  repaid  the  victor  ? 
He  ventured  to  address  her,  she  answered  with  attention  : nay 
what  if  there  were  a slight  tremor  in  that  silver  voice ; what 
if  the  red  glow  of  evening  were  hiding  a transient  blush  ! 

‘ The  conversation  took  a higher  tone,  one  fine  thought 
called  forth  another : it  was  one  of  those  rare  seasons,  when 
the  soul  expands  with  full  freedom,  and  man  feels  himself 
brought  near  to  man.  Gaily  in  light,  graceful  abandonment, 
the  friendly  talk  played  round  that  circle ; for  the  burden  was 
rolled  from  every  heart ; the  barriers  of  Ceremony,  which  are 
indeed  the  laws  of  polite  living,  had  melted  as  into  vapour ; 
and  the  poor  claims  of  Me  and  Thee,  no  longer  parted  by 
rigid  fences,  now  flowed  softly  into  one  another ; and  Life  lay 
all  harmonious,  many- tinted,  like  some  fair  royal  champaign, 
the  sovereign  and  owner  of  which  were  Love  only.  Such  music 
springs  from  kind  hearts,  in  a kind  environment  of  place  and 
time.  And  yet  as  the  light  grew  more  aerial  on  the  mountain- 


R O M A N C E 


115 


CHAP.  V.] 

tops,  and  the  shadows  fell  longer  over  the  valley,  some  faint 
tone  of  sadness  may  have  breathed  through  the  heart ; and,  in 
whispers  more  or  less  audible,  reminded  every  one  that  as  this 
bright  day  was  drawing  towards  its  close,  so  likewise  must  the 
Day  of  Man’s  Existence  decline  into  dust  and  darkness ; and 
with  all  its  sick  toilings,  and  joyful  and  mournful  noises,  sink 
in  the  still  Eternity. 

4 To  our  Friend  the  hours  seemed  moments ; holy  was  he 
and  happy  : the  words  from  those  sweetest  lips  came  over  him 
like  dew  on  thirsty  grass  ; all  better  feelings  in  his  soul  seemed 
to  whisper,  It  is  good  for  us  to  be  here.  At  parting,  the 
Blumine’s  hand  was  in  his  : in  the  balmy  twilight,  with  the 
kind  stars  above  them,  he  spoke  something  of  meeting  again, 
which  was  not  contradicted  ; he  pressed  gently  those  small  soft 
fingers,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  not  hastily,  not  angrily 
withdrawn.’ 

Poor  Teufelsdrockh  ! it  is  clear  to  demonstration  thou  art 
smit : the  Queen  of  Hearts  would  see  a 4 man  of  genius  ’ also 
sigh  for  her ; and  there,  by  art-magic,  in  that  preternatural 
hour,  has  she  bound  and  spell-bound  thee.  4 Love  is  not  alto- 
gether a Delirium,’  says  he  elsewhere ; 4 yet  has  it  many  points 
in  common  therewith.  I call  it  rather  a discerning  of  the 
Lifinite  in  the  Finite,  of  the  Idea  made  Real ; which  discerning 
again  may  be  either  true  or  false,  either  seraphic  or  demoniac, 
Inspiration  or  Insanity.  But  in  the  former  case  too,  as  in 
common  Madness,  it  is  Fantasy  that  superadds  itself  to  sight ; 
on  the  so  petty  domain  of  the  Actual  plants  its  Archimedes- 
lever,  whereby  to  move  at  will  the  infinite  Spiritual.  Fantasy 
I might  call  the  true  Heaven-gate  and  Hell-gate  of  man  : his 
sensuous  life  is  but  the  small  temporary  stage  ( Zeitbiihne ), 
whereon  thick-streaming  influences  from  both  these  far  yet  near 
regions  meet  visibly,  and  act  tragedy  and  melodrama.  Sense 
can  support  herself  handsomely,  in  most  countries,  for  some 
eighteen-pence  a day ; but  for  Fantasy  planets  and  solar- 
systems  will  not  suffice.  Witness  your  Pyrrhus  conquering  the 
world,  yet  drinking  no  better  red  wine  than  he  had  before.’ 


116 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

Alas  ! witness  also  your  Diogenes,  flame-clad,  scaling  the  upper 
Heaven,  and  verging  towards  Insanity,  for  prize  of  a ‘high- 
souled  Brunette,’  as  if  the  earth  held  but  one  and  not  several 
of  these  ! 

He  says  that,  in  Town,  they  met  again  : ‘ day  after  day,  like 
his  heart’s  sun,  the  blooming  Blumine  shone  on  him.  Ah  ! a 
little  while  ago,  and  he  was  yet  in  all  darkness  : him  what 
Graceful  ( Holde ) would  ever  love  ? Disbelieving  all  things, 
the  poor  youth  had  never  learned  to  believe  in  himself.  With- 
drawn, in  proud  timidity,  within  his  own  fastnesses ; solitary 
from  men,  yet  baited  by  night-spectres  enough,  he  saw  himself, 
with  a sad  indignation,  constrained  to  renounce  the  fairest 
hopes  of  existence.  And  now,  O now  ! “ She  looks  on  thee,” 

cried  he  : “ she  the  fairest,  noblest ; do  not  her  dark  eyes  tell 
thee,  thou  art  not  despised  ? The  Heaven’s-Messenger  ! All 
Heaven’s  blessings  be  hers  ! ” Thus  did  soft  melodies  flow 
through  his  heart ; tones  of  an  infinite  gratitude ; sweetest 
intimations  that  he  also  was  a man,  that  for  him  also  unutter- 
able joys  had  been  provided. 

‘ In  free  speech,  earnest  or  gay,  amid  lambent  glances,  laugh- 
ter, tears,  and  often  with  the  inarticulate  mystic  speech  of 
Music  : such  was  the  element  they  now  lived  in ; in  such  a 
many-tinted,  radiant  Aurora,  and  by  this  fairest  of  Orient 
Light-bringers  must  our  Friend  be  blandished,  and  the  new 
Apocalypse  of  Nature  unrolled  to  him.  Fairest  Blumine  ! 
And,  even  as  a Star,  all  Fire  and  humid  Softness,  a very  Light- 
ray  incarnate  ! Was  there  so  much  as  a fault,  a “ caprice,”  he 
could  have  dispensed  with  P Was  she  not  to  him  in  very  deed 
a Morning-Star ; did  not  her  presence  bring  with  it  airs  from 
Heaven  ? As  from  iEolian  Harps  in  the  breath  of  dawn,  as 
from  the  Memnon’s  Statue  struck  by  the  rosy  finger  of  Aurora, 
unearthly  music  was  around  him,  and  lapped  him  into  untried 
balmy  Rest.  Pale  Doubt  fled  away  to  the  distance ; Life 
bloomed-up  with  happiness  and  hope.  The  past,  then,  was 
all  a haggard  dream ; he  had  been  in  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
then,  and  could  not  discern  it ! But  lo  now  ! the  black  walls 


ROMANCE 


117 


CHAP.  V.] 

of  his  prison  melt  away ; the  captive  is  alive,  is  free.  If  he 
loved  his  Disenchantress  ? Ach  Gotti  His  whole  heart  and 
soul  and  life  were  hers,  but  never  had  he  named  it  Love : 
existence  was  all  a Feeling,  not  yet  shaped  into  a Thought.’ 

Nevertheless,  into  a Thought,  nay  into  an  Action,  it  must 
be  shaped ; for  neither  Disenchanter  nor  Disenchantress,  mere 
‘ Children  of  Time,’  can  abide  by  Feeling  alone.  The  Pro- 
fessor knows  not,  to  this  day,  ‘how  in  her  soft,  fervid  bosom 
the  Lovely  found  determination,  even  on  hest  of  Necessity,  to 
cut  asunder  these  so  blissful  bonds.’  He  even  appears  sur- 
prised at  the  ‘ Duenna  Cousin,’  whoever  she  may  have  been, 
‘ in  whose  meagre,  hunger-bitten  philosophy,  the  religion  of 
young  hearts  was,  from  the  first,  faintly  approved  of.’  We, 
even  at  such  distance,  can  explain  it  without  necromancy. 
Let  the  Philosopher  answer  this  one  question.  What  figure, 
at  that  period,  was  a Mrs  Teufelsdrockh  likely  to  make  in 
polished  society?  Could  she  have  driven  so  much  as  a brass- 
bound  Gig,  or  even  a simple  iron-spring  one  ? Thou  foolish 
‘ absolved  Auscultator,’  before  whom  lies  no  prospect  of  capital, 
will  any  yet  known  ‘ religion  of  young  hearts’  keep  the  human 
kitchen  warm  ? Pshaw ! thy  divine  Blumine,  when  she 
‘ resigned  herself  to  wed  some  richer,’  shows  more  philosophy, 
though  but  ‘ a woman  of  genius,’  than  thou,  a pretended 
man. 

Our  readers  have  witnessed  the  origin  of  this  Love-mania, 
and  with  what  royal  splendour  it  waxes,  and  rises.  Let  no 
one  ask  us  to  unfold  the  glories  of  its  dominant  state ; much 
less  the  horrors  of  its  almost  instantaneous  dissolution.  How 
from  such  inorganic  masses,  henceforth  madder  than  ever,  as 
lie  in  these  Bags,  can  even  fragments  of  a living  delineation 
be  organised  ? Besides,  of  what  profit  were  it  ? We  view, 
with  a lively  pleasure,  the  gay  silk  Montgolfier  start  from  the 
ground,  and  shoot  upwards,  cleaving  the  liquid  deeps,  till  it 
dwindle  to  a luminous  star : but  what  is  there  to  look  longer 
on,  when  once,  by  natural  elasticity,  or  accident  of  fire,  it  has 
exploded  ? A hapless  air-navigator,  plunging,  amid  tom 


118 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

parachutes,  sand-bags,  and  confused  wreck,  fast  enough  into 
the  jaws  of  the  Devil ! Suffice  it  to  know  that  Teufelsdrockh 
rose  into  the  highest  regions  of  the  Empyrean,  by  a natural 
parabolic  track,  and  returned  thence  in  a quick  perpendicular 
one.  For  the  rest,  let  any  feeling  reader,  who  has  been 
unhappy  enough  to  do  the  like,  paint  it  out  for  himself : 
considering  only  that  if  he,  for  his  perhaps  comparatively 
insignificant  mistress,  underwent  such  agonies  and  frenzies, 
what  must  Teufelsdrockh’s  have  been,  with  a fire-heart,  and 
for  a nonpareil  Blumine ! We  glance  merely  at  the  final 
scene  : 

‘ One  morning,  he  found  his  Morning-star  all  dimmed  and 
dusky-red ; the  fair  creature  was  silent,  absent,  she  seemed  to 
have  been  weeping.  Alas,  no  longer  a Morning-star,  but  a 
troublous  skyey  Portent,  announcing  that  the  Doomsday  had 
dawned  ! She  said,  in  a tremulous  voice,  They  were  to  meet 
no  more.1  The  thunderstruck  Air-sailor  is  not  wanting  to 
himself  in  this  dread  hour  : but  what  avails  it  ? We  omit 
the  passionate  expostulations,  entreaties,  indignations,  since  all 
was  vain,  and  not  even  an  explanation  was  conceded  him ; and 
hasten  to  the  catastrophe.  ‘ “ Farewell,  then,  Madam  ! 11  said 
he,  not  without  sternness,  for  his  stung  pride  helped  him. 
She  put  her  hand  in  his,  she  looked  in  his  face,  tears  started 
to  her  eyes ; in  wild  audacity  he  clasped  her  to  his  bosom ; 
their  lips  were  joined,  their  two  souls,  like  two  dew-drops, 
rushed  into  one, — for  the  first  time,  and  for  the  last ! ’ Thus 
was  Teufelsdrockh  made  immortal  by  a kiss.  And  then  ? 
Why,  then — £ thick  curtains  of  Night  rushed  over  his  soul,  as 
rose  the  immeasurable  Crash  of  Doom  ; and  through  the  ruins 
as  of  a shivered  Universe  was  he  falling,  falling,  towards  the 
Abyss.1 


CHAP.  VI.]  SORROWS  OF  TEUFELSDROCKH  119 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SORROWS  OF  TEUFELSDROCKH. 

Teufelsdrockli’s  demeanour  thereupon.  Turns  pilgrim.  A last  wistful 
look  on  native  Entepfuhl : Sunset  amongst  primitive  Mountains.  Basilisk- 
glance  of  the  Barouche-and-four.  Thoughts  on  View-hunting.  Wander- 
ings and  Sorrowings. 

We  have  long  felt  that,  with  a man  like  our  Professor,  matters 
must  often  be  expected  to  take  a course  of  their  own ; that 
in  so  multiplex,  intricate  a nature,  there  might  be  channels, 
both  for  admitting  and  emitting,  such  as  the  Psychologist  had 
seldom  noted ; in  short,  that  on  no  grand  occasion  and  con- 
vulsion, neither  in  the  joy-storm  nor  in  the  woe-storm,  could 
you  predict  his  demeanour. 

To  our  less  philosophical  readers,  for  example,  it  is  now 
clear  that  the  so  passionate  Teufelsdrockh,  precipitated 
through  ‘ a shivered  Universe  ’ in  this  extraordinary  way  has 
only  one  of  three  things  which  he  can  next  do  : Establish  him- 
self in  Bedlam ; begin  writing  Satanic  Poetry ; or  blow-out 
his  brains.  In  the  progress  towards  any  of  which  consumma- 
tions, do  not  such  readers  anticipate  extravagance  enough ; 
breast-beating,  brow-beating  (against  walls),  lion-bellowings 
of  blasphemy  and  the  like,  stampings,  smitings,  breakages  of 
furniture,  if  not  arson  itself? 

Nowise  so  does  Teufelsdrockh  deport  him.  He  quietly 
lifts  his  Pilgerstab  (Pilgrim-staff),  ‘ old  business  being  soon 
wound-up 1 ; and  begins  a perambulation  and  circumambulation 
of  the  terraqueous  Globe  ! Curious  it  is,  indeed,  how  with 
such  vivacity  of  conception,  such  intensity  of  feeling,  above 
all,  with  these  unconscionable  habits  of  Exaggeration  in 
speech,  he  combines  that  wonderful  stillness  of  his,  that 
stoicism  in  external  procedure.  Thus,  if  his  sudden  bereave- 
ment, in  this  matter  of  the  Flower-goddess,  is  talked  of  as 
a real  Doomsday  and  Dissolution  of  Nature,  in  which  light 


120 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  II. 

doubtless  it  partly  appeared  to  himself,  his  own  nature  is 
nowise  dissolved  thereby ; but  rather  is  compressed  closer. 
For  once,  as  we  might  say,  a Blumine  by  magic  appliances  has 
unlocked  that  shut  heart  of  his,  and  its  hidden  things  rush-out 
tumultuous,  boundless,  like  genii  enfranchised  from  their  glass 
phial : but  no  sooner  are  your  magic  appliances  withdrawn, 
than  the  strange  casket  of  a heart  springs-to  again ; and 
perhaps  there  is  now  no  key  extant  that  will  open  it ; for  a 
Teufelsdrockh,  as  we  remarked,  will  not  love  a second  time. 
Singular  Diogenes  ! No  sooner  has  that  heart-rending  occur- 
rence fairly  taken  place,  than  he  affects  to  regard  it  as  a thing 
natural,  of  which  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said.  £ One 
highest  hope,  seemingly  legible  in  the  eyes  of  an  Angel,  had 
recalled  him  as  out  of  Death-shadows  into  celestial  Life  : but 
a gleam  of  Tophet  passed  over  the  face  of  his  Angel ; he  was 
rapt  away  in  whirlwinds,  and  heard  the  laughter  of  Demons. 
It  was  a Calenture,’  adds  he,  ‘ whereby  the  Youth  saw  green 
Paradise-groves  in  the  waste  Ocean-waters : a lying  vision, 
yet  not  wholly  a lie,  for  Tie  saw  it.’  But  what  things  soever 
passed  in  him,  when  he  ceased  to  see  it ; what  ragings  and 
despairings  soever  Teufelsdrdckh’s  soul  was  the  scene  of,  he 
has  the  goodness  to  conceal  under  a quite  opaque  cover  of 
Silence.  We  know  it  well ; the  first  mad  paroxysm  past,  our 
brave  Gneschen  collected  his  dismembered  philosophies,  and 
buttoned  himself  together ; he  was  meek,  silent,  or  spoke  of 
the  weather  and  the  Journals  : only  by  a transient  knitting 
of  those  shaggy  brows,  by  some  deep  flash  of  those  eyes, 
glancing  one  knew  not  whether  with  tear-dew  or  with  fierce 
fire, — might  you  have  guessed  what  a Gehenna  was  within ; 
that  a whole  Satanic  School  were  spouting,  though  in- 
audibly,  there.  To  consume  your  own  choler,  as  some 
chimneys  consume  their  own  smoke ; to  keep  a whole  Satanic 
School  spouting,  if  it  must  spout,  inaudibly,  is  a negative  yet 
no  slight  virtue,  nor  one  of  the  commonest  in  these  times. 

Nevertheless,  we  will  not  take  upon  us  to  say,  that  in  the 
strange  measure  he  fell  upon,  there  was  not  a touch  of  latent 


CHAP.  VI.]  SORROWS  OF  TEUFELSDROCKH  121 

Insanity ; whereof  indeed  the  actual  condition  of  these 
Documents  in  Capricornus  and  Aquarius  is  no  bad  emblem. 
His  so  unlimited  Wanderings,  toilsome  enough,  are  without 
assigned  or  perhaps  assignable  aim ; internal  Unrest  seems  his 
sole  guidance ; he  wanders,  wanders,  as  if  that  curse  of  the 
Prophet  had  fallen  on  him,  and  he  were  £ made  like  unto  a 
wheel.’  Doubtless,  too,  the  chaotic  nature  of  these  Paper-bags 
aggravates  our  obscurity.  Quite  without  note  of  preparation, 
for  example,  we  come  upon  the  following  slip  : ‘ A peculiar 
feeling  it  is  that  will  rise  in  the  Traveller,  when  turning  some 
hill-range  in  his  desert  road,  he  descries  lying  far  below, 
embosomed  among  its  groves  and  green  natural  bulwarks,  and 
all  diminished  to  a toybox,  the  fair  Town,  where  so  many 
souls,  as  it  were  seen  and  yet  unseen,  are  driving  their 
multifarious  traffic.  Its  white  steeple  is  then  truly  a 
starward-pointing  finger ; the  canopy  of  blue  smoke  seems 
like  a sort  of  Life-breath : for  always,  of  its  own  unity,  the 
soul  gives  unity  to  whatsoever  it  looks  on  with  love ; thus 
does  the  little  Dwellingplace  of  men,  in  itself  a congeries  of 
houses  and  huts,  become  for  us  an  individual,  almost  a person. 
But  what  thousand  other  thoughts  unite  thereto,  if  the  place 
has  to  ourselves  been  the  arena  of  joyous  or  mournful 
experiences ; if  perhaps  the  cradle  we  were  rocked  in  still 
stands  there,  if  our  Loving  ones  still  dwell  there,  if  our  Buried 
ones  there  slumber ! ’ Does  Teufelsdrockh,  as  the  wounded 
eagle  is  said  to  make  for  its  own  eyrie,  and  indeed  military 
deserters,  and  all  hunted  outcast  creatures,  turn  as  if  by 
instinct  in  the  direction  of  their  birthland, — fly  first,  in  this 
extremity,  towards  his  native  Entepfuhl ; but  reflecting  that 
there  no  help  awaits  him,  take  only  one  wistful  look  from  the 
distance,  and  then  wend  elsewhither  ? 

Little  happier  seems  to  be  his  next  flight : into  the  wilds 
of  Nature ; as  if  in  her  mother-bosom  he  would  seek  healing. 
So  at  least  we  incline  to  interpret  the  following  Notice, 
separated  from  the  former  by  some  considerable  space, 
wherein,  however,  is  nothing  noteworthy  ; 


122 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

4 Mountains  were  not  new  to  him ; but  rarely  are  Moun- 
tains seen  in  such  combined  majesty  and  grace  as  here.  The 
rocks  are  of  that  sort  called  Primitive  by  the  mineralogists, 
which  always  arrange  themselves  in  masses  of  a rugged, 
gigantic  character ; which  ruggedness,  however,  is  here 
tempered  by  a singular  airiness  of  form,  and  softness  of 
environment : in  a climate  favourable  to  vegetation,  the  gray 
cliff,  itself  covered  with  lichens,  shoots-up  through  a garment 
of  foliage  or  verdure  ; and  white,  bright  cottages,  tree-shaded, 
cluster  round  the  everlasting  granite.  In  fine  vicissitude, 
Beauty  alternates  with  Grandeur : you  ride  through  stony 
hollows,  along  strait  passes,  traversed  by  torrents,  overhung 
by  high  walls  of  rock ; now  winding  amid  broken  shaggy 
chasms,  and  huge  fragments ; now  suddenly  emerging  into 
some  emerald  valley,  where  the  streamlet  collects  itself  into  a 
Lake,  and  man  has  again  found  a fair  dwelling,  and  it  seems 
as  if  Peace  had  established  herself  in  the  bosom  of  Strength. 

4 To  Peace,  however,  in  this  vortex  of  existence,  can  the 
Son  of  Time  not  pretend  : still  less  if  some  Spectre  haunt  him 
from  the  Past ; and  the  Future  is  wholly  a Stygian  Darkness, 
spectre-bearing.  Reasonably  might  the  Wanderer  exclaim  to 
himself : Are  not  the  gates  of  this  world’s  Happiness  inexor- 
ably shut  against  thee ; hast  thou  a hope  that  is  not  mad  ? 
Nevertheless,  one  may  still  murmur  audibly,  or  in  the  original 
Greek  if  that  suit  thee  better : 44  Whoso  can  look  on  Death 
will  start  at  no  shadows.” 

4 From  such  meditations  is  the  Wanderer’s  attention  called 
outwards  ; for  now  the  Valley  closes-in  abruptly,  intersected 
by  a huge  mountain  mass,  the  stony  water-worn  ascent  of 
which  is  not  to  be  accomplished  on  horseback.  Arrived  aloft, 
he  finds  himself  again  lifted  into  the  evening  sunset  light ; 
and  cannot  but  pause,  and  gaze  round  him,  some  moments 
there.  An  upland  irregular  expanse  of  wold,  where  valleys  in 
complex  branchings  are  suddenly  or  slowly  arranging  their 
descent  towards  every  quarter  of  the  sky.  The  mountain- 
ranges  are  beneath  your  feet,  and  folded  together : only  the 


CHAP.  VI. J SORROWS  OF  TEUFELSDROCKH  123 

loftier  summits  look  down  here  and  there  as  on  a second 
plain ; lakes  also  lie  clear  and  earnest  in  their  solitude.  No 
trace  of  man  now  visible ; unless  indeed  it  were  he  who 
fashioned  that  little  visible  link  of  Highway,  here,  as  would 
seem,  scaling  the  inaccessible,  to  unite  Province  with  Province. 
But  sun-wards,  lo  you  ! how  it  towers  sheer  up,  a world  of 
Mountains,  the  diadem  and  centre  of  the  mountain  region  ! 
A hundred  and  a hundred  savage  peaks,  in  the  last  light  of 
Day ; all  glowing,  of  gold  and  amethyst,  like  giant  spirits  of 
the  wilderness ; there  in  their  silence,  in  their  solitude,  even 
as  on  the  night  when  Noah’s  Deluge  first  dried  ! Beautiful, 
nay  solemn,  was  the  sudden  aspect  to  our  Wanderer.  He 
gazed  over  those  stupendous  masses  with  wonder,  almost  with 
longing  desire ; never  till  this  hour  had  he  known  Nature, 
that  she  was  One,  that  she  was  his  Mother  and  divine.  And 
as  the  ruddy  glow  was  fading  into  clearness  in  the  sky,  and 
the  Sun  had  now  departed,  a murmur  of  Eternity  and  Immen- 
sity, of  Death  and  of  Life,  stole  through  his  soul ; and  he  felt 
as  if  Death  and  Life  were  one,  as  if  the  Earth  were  not  dead, 
as  if  the  Spirit  of  the  Earth  had  its  throne  in  that  splendour, 
and  his  own  spirit  were  therewith  holding  communion. 

4 The  spell  was  broken  by  a sound  of  carriage- wheels. 
Emerging  from  the  hidden  Northward,  to  sink  soon  into  the 
hidden  Southward,  came  a gay  Barouche-and-four : it  was 
open ; servants  and  postillions  wore  wedding-favours : that 
happy  pair,  then,  had  found  each  other,  it  was  their  marriage 
evening!  Few  moments  brought  them  near:  Du  Hifnmel! 

It  was  Herr  Towgood  and Blumine  ! With  slight 

unrecognising  salutation  they  passed  me ; plunged  down  amid 
the  neighbouring  thickets,  onwards,  to  Heaven,  and  to 
England ; and  I,  in  my  friend  Richter’s  words,  I remained 
alone,  behind  them , with  the  Night."' 

Were  it  not  cruel  in  these  circumstances,  here  might  be 
the  place  to  insert  an  observation,  gleaned  long  ago  from  the 
great  Clothes-  Volume,  where  it  stands  with  quite  other  intent : 
‘ Some  time  before  Small-pox  was  extirpated,’  says  the 


124 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

Professor,  there  came  a new  malady  of  the  spiritual  sort  on 
Europe : I mean  the  epidemic,  now  endemical,  of  View- 
hunting.  Poets  of  old  date,  being  privileged  with  Senses,  had 
also  enjoyed  external  Nature ; but  chiefly  as  we  enjoy  the 
crystal  cup  which  holds  good  or  bad  liquor  for  us ; that  is 
to  say,  in  silence,  or  with  slight  incidental  commentary : 
never,  as  I compute,  till  after  the  Sorrows  of  Werter,  was 
there  man  found  who  would  say : Come  let  us  make  a 
Description  ! Having  drunk  the  liquor,  come  let  us  eat  the 
glass  ! Of  which  endemic  the  Jenner  is  unhappily  still  to 
seek.’  Too  true ! 

We  reckon  it  more  important  to  remark  that  the  Pro- 
fessor’s Wanderings,  so  far  as  his  stoical  and  cynical  en- 
velopment admits  us  to  clear  insight,  here  first  take  their 
permanent  character,  fatuous  or  not.  That  Basilisk-glance  of 
the  Barouche-and-four  seems  to  have  withered-up  what  little 
remnant  of  a purpose  may  have  still  lurked  in  him  : Life  has 
become  wholly  a dark  labyrinth ; wherein,  through  long  years, 
our  Friend,  flying  from  spectres,  has  to  stumble  about  at 
random,  and  naturally  with  more  haste  than  progress. 

Foolish  were  it  in  us  to  attempt  following  him,  even  from 
afar,  in  this  extraordinary  world-pilgrimage  of  his ; the 
simplest  record  of  which,  were  clear  record  possible,  would 
fill  volumes.  Hopeless  is  the  obscurity,  unspeakable  the 
confusion.  He  glides  from  country  to  country,  from  condition 
to  condition ; vanishing  and  re-appearing,  no  man  can  calcu- 
late how  or  where.  Through  all  quarters  of  the  world  he 
wanders,  and  apparently  through  all  circles  of  society.  If  in 
any  scene,  perhaps  difficult  to  fix  geographically,  he  settles 
for  a time,  and  forms  connexions,  be  sure  he  will  snap  them 
abruptly  asunder.  Let  him  sink  out  of  sight  as  Private 
Scholar  ( Privatisirender ),  living  by  the  grace  of  God  in  some 
European  capital,  you  may  next  find  him  as  Hadjee  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Mecca.  It  is  an  inexplicable  Phantasma- 
goria, capricious,  quick-changing ; as  if  our  Traveller,  instead 
of  limbs  and  highways,  had  transported  himself  by  some 


chap,  vi.]  SORROWS  OF  TEUFELSDROCKH  125 

wishing-carpet,  or  Fortunatus’  Hat.  The  whole,  too,  imparted 
emblematically,  in  dim  multifarious  tokens  (as  that  collection 
of  Street- Advertisements) ; with  only  some  touch  of  direct 
historical  notice  sparingly  interspersed  : little  light-islets  in 
the  world  of  haze  ! So  that,  from  this  point,  the  Professor 
is  more  of  an  enigma  than  ever.  In  figurative  language,  we 
might  say  he  becomes,  not  indeed  a spirit,  yet  spiritualised, 
vaporised.  Fact  unparalleled  in  Biography : The  river  of  his 
History,  which  we  have  traced  from  its  tiniest  fountains,  and 
hoped  to  see  flow  onward,  with  increasing  current,  into  the 
ocean,  here  dashes  itself  over  that  terrific  Lover’s  Leap  ; and, 
as  a mad-foaming  cataract,  flies  wholly  into  tumultuous  clouds 
of  spray ! Low  down  it  indeed  collects  again  into  pools  and 
plashes ; yet  only  at  a great  distance,  and  with  difficulty,  if  at 
all,  into  a general  stream.  To  cast  a glance  into  certain  of 
those  pools  and  plashes,  and  trace  whither  they  run,  must,  for 
a chapter  or  two,  form  the  limit  of  our  endeavour. 

For  which  end  doubtless  those  direct  historical  Notices, 
where  they  can  be  met  with,  are  the  best.  Nevertheless,  of 
this  sort  too  there  occurs  much,  which,  with  our  present  light, 
it  were  questionable  to  emit.  Teufelsdrockh,  vibrating  every- 
where between  the  highest  and  the  lowest  levels,  comes  into 
contact  with  public  History  itself.  For  example,  those 
conversations  and  relations  with  illustrious  Persons,  as 
Sultan  Mahmoud,  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  and  others,  are 
they  not  as  yet  rather  of  a diplomatic  character  than  of  a 
biographic  ? The  Editor,  appreciating  the  sacredness  of 
crowned  heads,  nay  perhaps  suspecting  the  possible  trickeries 
of  a Clothes-Philosopher,  will  eschew  this  province  for  the 
present ; a new  time  may  bring  new  insight  and  a different 
duty. 

If  we  ask  now,  not  indeed  with  what  ulterior  Purpose,  for 
there  was  none,  yet  with  what  immediate  outlooks ; at  all 
events,  in  what  mood  of  mind,  the  Professor  undertook  and 
prosecuted  this  world-pilgrimage, — the  answer  is  more  dis- 
tinct than  favourable.  ‘ A nameless  Unrest,’  says  he,  4 urged 


126  SARTOR  RES  ART  US  [BOOK  II. 

me  forward ; to  which  the  outward  motion  was  some  momen- 
tary lying  solace.  Whither  should  I go  ? My  Loadstars 
were  blotted  out ; in  that  canopy  of  grim  fire  shone  no  star. 
Yet  forward  must  I ; the  ground  burnt  under  me ; there  was 
no  rest  for  the  sole  of  my  foot.  I was  alone,  alone  ! Ever 
too  the  strong  inward  longing  shaped  Fantasms  for  itself : 
towards  these,  one  after  the  other,  must  I fruitlessly  wander. 
A feeling  I had,  that  for  my  fever- thirst  there  was  and  must 
be  somewhere  a healing  Fountain.  To  many  fondly  imagined 
Fountains,  the  Saints1  Wells  of  these  days,  did  I pilgrim ; to 
great  Men,  to  great  Cities,  to  great  Events  : but  found  there 
no  healing.  In  strange  countries,  as  in  the  well-known ; 
in  savage  deserts,  as  in  the  press  of  corrupt  civilisation,  it  was 
ever  the  same : how  could  your  Wanderer  escape  from — his 
own  Shadow  ? Nevertheless  still  Forward  ! I felt  as  if  in 
great  haste ; to  do  I saw  not  what.  From  the  depths  of  my 
own  heart,  it  called  to  me,  Forwards  ! The  winds  and  the 
streams,  and  all  Nature  sounded  to  me,  Forwards  ! Ach  Gott, 
I was  even,  once  for  all,  a Son  of  Time.1 

From  which  is  it  not  clear  that  the  internal  Satanic  School 
was  still  active  enough  ? He  says  elsewhere  : ‘ The  Enchiridion 
of  Epictetus  I had  ever  with  me,  often  as  my  sole  rational 
companion ; and  regret  to  mention  that  the  nourishment  it 
yielded  was  trifling.1  Thou  foolish  Teufelsdrockh ! How 
could  it  else  ? Hadst  thou  not  Greek  enough  to  understand 
thus  much  : The  end  of  Man  is  an  Action,  and  not  a Thought, 
though  it  were  the  noblest  ? 

‘ How  I lived  ? 1 writes  he  once : ‘ Friend,  hast  thou  con- 
sidered the  “ rugged  all-nourishing  Earth,11  as  Sophocles  well 
names  her  ; how  she  feeds  the  sparrow  on  the  house-top  much 
more  her  darling,  man  ? While  thou  stirrest  and  livest,  thou 
hast  a probability  of  victual.  My  breakfast  of  tea  has  been 
cooked  by  a Tartar  woman,  with  water  of  the  Amur,  who 
wiped  her  earthen  kettle  with  a horse-tail.  I have  roasted 
wild-eggs  in  the  sand  of  Sahara ; I have  awakened  in  Paris 
Estrapades  and  Vienna  Malzleins,  with  no  prospect  of  break- 


chap,  vi.]  SORROWS  OF  TEUFELSDROCKH  127 

fast  beyond  elemental  liquid.  That  I had  my  Living  to  seek 
saved  me  from  Dying, — by  suicide.  In  our  busy  Europe,  is 
there  not  an  everlasting  demand  for  Intellect,  in  the  chemical, 
mechanical,  political,  religious,  educational,  commercial  depart- 
ments ? In  Pagan  countries,  cannot  one  write  Fetishes  ? 
Living  ! Little  knowest  thou  what  alchemy  is  in  an  inventive 
Soul ; how,  as  with  its  little  finger,  it  can  create  provision 
enough  for  the  body  (of  a Philosopher) ; and  then,  as  with 
both  hands,  create  quite  other  than  provision ; namely, 
spectres  to  torment  itself  withal.1 

Poor  Teufelsdrockh  ! Flying  with  Hunger  always  parallel 
to  him  ; and  a whole  Infernal  Chase  in  his  rear ; so  that  the 
countenance  of  Hunger  is  comparatively  a friend’s  ! Thus 
must  he,  in  the  temper  of  ancient  Cain,  or  of  the  modern 
Wandering  Jew, — save  only  that  he  feels  himself  not  guilty 
and  but  suffering  the  pains  of  guilt, — wend  to  and  fro  with 
aimless  speed.  Thus  must  he,  over  the  whole  surface  of  the 
Earth  (by  footprints),  write  his  Sorrows  of  Teufelsdrockh ; 
even  as  the  great  Goethe,  in  passionate  words,  had  to  write 
his  Sorrows  of  Werter,  before  the  spirit  freed  herself,  and  he 
could  become  a Man.  Vain  truly  is  the  hope  of  your  swiftest 
Runner  to  escape  ‘ from  his  own  Shadow 1 ! Nevertheless,  in 
these  sick  days,  when  the  Born  of  Heaven  first  descries  himself 
(about  the  age  of  twenty)  in  a world  such  as  ours,  richer  than 
usual  in  two  things,  in  Truths  grown  obsolete,  and  Trades 
grown  obsolete, — what  can  the  fool  think  but  that  it  is  all  a 
Den  of  Lies,  wherein  whoso  will  not  speak  Lies  and  act  Lies, 
must  stand  idle  and  despair  ? Whereby  it  happens  that,  for 
your  nobler  minds,  the  publishing  of  some  such  Work  of  Art, 
in  one  or  the  other  dialect,  becomes  almost  a necessity.  For 
what  is  it  properly  but  an  Altercation  with  the  Devil,  before 
you  begin  honestly  Fighting  him  ? Your  Byron  publishes 
his  Sorrows  of  Lord  George , in  verse  and  in  prose,  and 
copiously  otherwise : your  Bonaparte  represents  his  Sorrows 
of  Napoleon  Opera,  in  an  all-too  stupendous  style ; with  music 
of  cannon-volleys,  and  murder-shrieks  of  a world ; his  stage- 


128 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  II. 

lights  are  the  fires  of  Conflagration ; his  rhyme  and  recitative 
are  the  tramp  of  embattled  Hosts  and  the  sound  of  falling 
Cities. — Happier  is  he  who,  like  our  Clothes-Philosopher,  can 
write  such  matter,  since  it  must  be  written,  on  the  insensible 
Earth,  with  his  shoe-soles  only ; and  also  survive  the  writing 
thereof ! 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  EVERLASTING  NO 

Loss  of  Hope,  and  of  Belief.  Profit-and-Loss  Philosophy.  Teufelsdrockh 
in  his  darkness  and  despair  still  clings  to  Truth  and  follows  Duty.  Inex- 
pressible pains  and  fears  of  Unbelief.  Fever-crisis : Protest  against  the 
Everlasting  No : Baphometic  Fire-Baptism. 

Under  the  strange  nebulous  envelopment,  wherein  our  Pro- 
fessor has  now  shrouded  himself,  no  doubt  but  his  spiritual 
nature  is  nevertheless  progressive,  and  growing  : for  how  can 
the  4 Son  of  Time,’  in  any  case,  stand  still  ? We  behold  him, 
through  those  dim  years,  in  a state  of  crisis,  of  transition  : his 
mad  Pilgrimings,  and  general  solution  into  aimless  Discon- 
tinuity, what  is  all  this  but  a mad  Fermentation ; wherefrom, 
the  fiercer  it  is,  the  clearer  product  will  one  day  evolve  itself  ? 

Such  transitions  are  ever  full  of  pain  : thus  the  Eagle  when 
he  moults  is  sickly ; and,  to  attain  his  new  beak,  must  harshly 
dash-off  the  old  one  upon  rocks.  What  Stoicism  soever  our 
Wanderer,  in  his  individual  acts  and  motions,  may  affect,  it  is 
clear  that  there  is  a hot  fever  of  anarchy  and  misery  raging 
within  ; coruscations  of  which  flash  out : as,  indeed,  how  could 
there  be  other  ? Have  we  not  seen  him  disappointed,  be- 
mocked  of  Destiny,  through  long  years  ? All  that  the  young 
heart  might  desire  and  pray  for  has  been  denied ; nay,  as  in 
the  last  worst  instance,  offered  and  then  snatched  away.  Ever 
an  ‘ excellent  Passivity 1 ; but  of  useful,  reasonable  Activity, 
essential  to  the  former  as  Food  to  Hunger,  nothing  granted : 
till  at  length,  in  this  wild  Pilgrimage,  he  must  forcibly  seize 


129 


CHAP.  VII.]  THE  EVERLASTING  NO 

for  himself  an  Activity,  though  useless,  unreasonable.  Alas, 
his  cup  of  bitterness,  which  had  been  filling  drop  by  drop, 
ever  since  that  first  4 ruddy  morning 1 in  the  Hinterschlag 
Gymnasium,  was  at  the  very  lip  ; and  then  with  that  poison- 
drop,  of  the  Towgood-and-Blumine  business,  it  runs  over,  and 
even  hisses  over  in  a deluge  of  foam. 

He  himself  says  once,  with  more  justice  than  originality  : 

‘ Man  is,  properly  speaking,  based  upon  Hope,  he  has  no  other 
possession  but  Hope ; this  world  of  his  is  emphatically  the 
‘ Place  of  Hope.1  What,  then,  was  our  Professor’s  possession  ? 
We  see  him,  for  the  present,  quite  shut-out  from  Hope ; look- 
ing not  into  the  golden  orient,  but  vaguely  all  round  into  a 
dim  copper  firmament,  pregnant  with  earthquake  and  tornado. 

Alas,  shut-out  from  Hope,  in  a deeper  sense  than  we  yet 
dream  of ! For,  as  he  wanders  wearisomely  through  this 
world,  he  has  now  lost  all  tidings  of  another  and  higher.  Full 
of  religion,  or  at  least  of  religiosity,  as  our  Friend  has  since 
exhibited  himself,  he  hides  not  that,  in  those  days,  he  was 
wholly  irreligious  : 4 Doubt  had  darkened  into  Unbelief,1  says 

he ; 4 shade  after  shade  goes  grimly  over  your  soul,  till  you 
have  the  fixed,  starless,  Tartarean  black.1  To  such  readers 
as  have  reflected,  what  can  be  called  reflecting,  on  man’s  life, 
and  happily  discovered,  in  contradiction  to  much  Profit-and- 
Loss  Philosophy,  speculative  and  practical,  that  Soul  is  not 
synonymous  with  Stomach ; who  understand,  therefore,  in  our 
Friend’s  words,  4 that,  for  man’s  well-being,  Faith  is  properly 
the  one  thing  needful ; how,  with  it,  Martyrs,  otherwise  weak, 
can  cheerfully  endure  the  shame  and  the  cross ; and  without 
it,  Worldlings  puke-up  their  sick  existence,  by  suicide,  in  the 
midst  of  luxury 1 : to  such  it  will  be  clear  that,  for  a pure 
moral  nature,  the  loss  of  his  religious  Belief  was  the  loss  of 
everything.  Unhappy  young  man  ! All  wounds,  the  crush  of 
long-continued  Destitution,  the  stab  of  false  Friendship  and 
of  false  Love,  all  wounds  in  thy  so  genial  heart,  would  have 
healed  again,  had  not  its  life-warmth  been  withdrawn.  Well 
might  he  exclaim,  in  his  wild  way  : 4 Is  there  no  God,  then : 

I 


130 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

but  at  best  an  absentee  God,  sitting  idle,  ever  since  the  first 
Sabbath,  at  the  outside  of  his  Universe,  and  see ing  it  go  ? 
Has  the  word  Duty  no  meaning ; is  what  we  call  Duty  no 
divine  Messenger  and  Guide,  but  a false  earthly  Fantasm, 
made-up  of  Desire  and  Fear,  of  emanations  from  the  Gallows 
and  from  Doctor  Graham’s  Celestial-Bed  ? Plappiness  of  an 
approving  Conscience  ! Did  not  Paul  of  Tarsus,  whom 
admiring  men  have  since  named  Saint,  feel  that  lie  was  “ the 
chief  of  sinners”;  and  Nero  of  Rome,  jocund  in  spirit 
( wohlgemuth ),  spend  much  of  his  time  in  fiddling  ? Foolish 
Wordmonger  and  Motive-grinder,  who  in  thy  Logic-mill  hast 
an  earthly  mechanism  for  the  Godlike  itself,  and  wouldst  fain 
grind  me  out  Virtue  from  the  husks  of  Pleasure, — I tell  thee, 
Nay  ! To  the  unregenerate  Prometheus  Vinctus  of  a man,  it 
is  ever  the  bitterest  aggravation  of  his  "wretchedness  that  he 
is  conscious  of  Virtue,  that  he  feels  himself  the  victim  not  of 
suffering  only,  but  of  injustice.  What  then  ? Is  the  heroic 
inspiration  we  name  Virtue  but  some  Passion  ; some  bubble  of 
the  blood,  bubbling  in  the  direction  others  profit  by  ? I know 
not : only  this  I know,  If  what  thou  namest  Happiness  be 
our  true  aim,  then  are  we  all  astray.  With  Stupidity  and 
sound  Digestion  man  may  front  much.  But  what,  in  these 
dull  unimaginative  days,  are  the  terrors  of  Conscience  to  the 
diseases  of  the  Liver ! Not  on  Morality,  but  on  Cookery,  let 
us  build  our  stronghold ; there  brandishing  our  frying-pan,  as 
censer,  let  us  offer  sweet  incense  to  the  Devil,  and  live  at  ease 
on  the  fat  things  lie  has  provided  for  his  Elect ! 1 

Thus  has  the  bewildered  Wanderer  to  stand,  as  so  many 
have  done,  shouting  question  after  question  into  the  Sibyl- 
cave  of  Destiny,  and  receive  no  Answer  but  an  Echo.  It  is 
all  a grim  Desert,  this  once-fair  world  of  his ; wherein  is 
heard  only  the  howling  of  wild-beasts,  or  the  shrieks  of 
despairing,  hate-filled  men ; and  no  Pillar  of  Cloud  by  day, 
and  no  Pillar  of  Fire  by  night,  any  longer  guides  the  Pilgrim. 
To  such  length  has  the  spirit  of  Inquiry  carried  him.  ‘ But 
what  boots  it  ( was  thufs)  ?’  cries  he : ‘it  is  but  the  common 


131 


CHAP.  VII.]  THE  EVERLASTING  NO 

lot  in  this  era.  Not  having  come  to  spiritual  majority  prior 
to  the  Siecle  de  Louis  Quinze,  and  not  being  born  purely  a 
Loghead  ( 'Dummkojrf ),  thou  hadst  no  other  outlook.  The 
whole  world  is,  like  thee,  sold  to  Unbelief ; their  old  Temples 
of  the  Godhead,  which  for  long  have  not  been  rainproof, 
crumble  down ; and  men  ask  now  : Where  is  the  Godhead ; 
our  eyes  never  saw  him  ?’ 

Pitiful  enough  were  it,  for  all  these  wild  utterances,  to  call 
our  Diogenes  wicked.  Unprofitable  servants  as  we  all  are, 
perhaps  at  no  era  of  his  life  was  he  more  decisively  the  Servant 
of  Goodness,  the  Servant  of  God,  than  even  now  when  doubt- 
ing God’s  existence.  ‘ One  circumstance  I note,’  says  he  : 
‘ after  all  the  nameless  woe  that  Inquiry,  which  for  me,  what 
it  is  not  always,  was  genuine  Love  of  Truth,  had  wrought  me, 
I nevertheless  still  loved  Truth,  and  would  bate  no  jot  of  my 
allegiance  to  her.  “ Truth  ! 11  I cried,  “ though  the  Heavens 
crush  me  for  following  her  : no  Falsehood  ! though  a whole 
celestial  Lubberland  were  the  price  of  Apostasy.”  In  conduct 
it  was  the  same.  Had  a divine  Messenger  from  the  clouds,  or 
miraculous  Handwriting  on  the  wall,  convincingly  proclaimed 
to  me  This  thou  shalt  do,  with  what  passionate  readiness,  as  I 
often  thought,  would  I have  done  it,  had  it  been  leaping  into 
the  infernal  Fire.  Thus,  in  spite  of  all  Motive-grinders, 
and  Mechanical  Profit-and-Loss  Philosophies,  with  the  sick 
ophthalmia  and  hallucination  they  had  brought  on,  was  the 
Infinite  nature  of  Duty  still  dimly  present  to  me  : living  with- 
out God  in  the  world,  of  God’s  light  I was  not  utterly  bereft ; 
if  my  as  yet  sealed  eyes,  with  their  unspeakable  longing,  could 
nowhere  see  Him,  nevertheless  in  my  heart  He  was  present, 
and  His  heaven-written  Law  still  stood  legible  and  sacred 
there.’ 

Meanwhile,  under  all  these  tribulations,  and  temporal  and 
spiritual  destitutions,  what  must  the  Wanderer,  in  his  silent 
soul,  have  endured  ! ‘ The  painfullest  feeling,’  writes  he,  ‘ is 

that  of  your  own  Feebleness  ( Unkrqft );  ever,  as  the  English 
Milton  says,  to  be  weak  is  the  true  misery.  And  yet  of  your 


132 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

Strength  there  is  and  can  be  no  clear  feeling,  save  by  what 
you  have  prospered  in,  by  what  you  have  done.  Between 
vague  wavering  Capability  and  fixed  indubitable  Performance, 
what  a difference  ! A certain  inarticulate  Self-consciousness 
dwells  dimly  in  us ; which  only  our  Works  can  render  articul- 
ate and  decisively  discernible.  Our  Works  are  the  mirror 
wherein  the  spirit  first  sees  its  natural  lineaments.  Hence, 
too,  the  folly  of  that  impossible  Precept,  Know  thyself ; till  it 
be  translated  into  this  partially  possible  one,  Know  what  thou 
canst  worlc  at. 

i But  for  me,  so  strangely  unprosperous  had  I been,  the 
net-result  of  my  Workings  amounted  as  yet  simply  to — 
Nothing.  How  then  could  I believe  in  my  Strength,  when 
there  was  as  yet  no  mirror  to  see  it  in  ? Ever  did  this 
agitating,  yet,  as  I now  perceive,  quite  frivolous  question, 
remain  to  me  insoluble  : Hast  thou  a certain  Faculty,  a cer- 
tain Worth,  such  even  as  the  most  have  not ; or  art  thou  the 
completest  Dullard  of  these  modern  times  ? Alas,  the  fearful 
Unbelief  is  unbelief  in  yourself ; and  how  could  I believe  ? 
Had  not  my  first,  last  Faith  in  myself,  when  even  to  me  the 
Heavens  seemed  laid  open,  and  I dared  to  love,  been  all-too 
cruelly  belied  ? The  speculative  Mystery  of  Life  grew  ever 
more  mysterious  to  me : neither  in  the  practical  Mystery  had 
I made  the  slightest  progress,  but  been  everywhere  buffeted, 
foiled,  and  contemptuously  cast  out.  A feeble  unit  in  the 
middle  of  a threatening  Infinitude,  I seemed  to  have  nothing- 
given  me  but  eyes,  whereby  to  discern  my  own  wretchedness. 
Invisible  yet  impenetrable  walls,  as  of  Enchantment,  divided 
me  from  all  living : was  there,  in  the  wide  world,  any  true 
bosom  I could  press  trustfully  to  mine  ? O Heaven,  No,  there 
was  none  ! I kept  a lock  upon  my  lips  : why  should  I speak 
much  with  that  shifting  variety  of  so-called  Friends,  in  whose 
withered,  vain  and  too-hungry  souls  Friendship  was  but  an 
incredible  tradition  ? In  such  cases,  your  resource  is  to  talk 
little,  and  that  little  mostly  from  the  Newspapers.  Now 
when  I look  back,  it  was  a strange  isolation  I then  lived  in. 


133 


CHAP.  VII.]  THE  EVERLASTING  NO 


The  men  and  women  around  me,  even  speaking  with  me,  were 
but  Figures ; I had,  practically,  forgotten  that  they  were  alive 
that  they  were  not  merely  automatic.  In  the  midst  of  their 
crowded  streets  and  assemblages,  I walked  solitary  ; and  (except 
as  it  was  my  own  heart,  not  another’s,  that  I kept  devouring) 
savage  also,  as  the  tiger  in  his  jungle.  Some  comfort  it 
would  have  been,  could  I,  like  a Faust,  have  fancied  myself 
tempted  and  tormented  of  the  Devil ; for  a Hell,  as  I 
imagine,  without  Life,  though  only  diabolic  Life,  were  more 
frightful  : but  in  our  age  of  Down-pulling  and  Disbelief,  the 
very  Devil  has  been  pulled  down,  you  cannot  so  much  as 
believe  in  a Devil.  To  me  the  Universe  was  all  void  of  Life, 
of  Purpose,  of  Volition,  even  of  Hostility : it  was  one  huge, 
dead,  immeasurable  Steam-engine,  rolling  on,  in  its  dead 
indifference,  to  grind  me  limb  from  limb.  O,  the  vast, 
gloomy,  solitary  Golgotha,  and  Mill  of  Death  ! Why  was  the 
Living  banished  thither  companionless,  conscious  ? Why,  if 
there  is  no  Devil ; nay,  unless  the  Devil  is  your  God  P 1 

A prey  incessantly  to  such  corrosions,  might  not,  moreover, 
as  the  worst  aggravation  to  them,  the  iron  constitution  even 
of  a Teufelsdrockh  threaten  to  fail  ? We  conjecture  that  he 
has  known  sickness ; and,  in  spite  of  his  locomotive  habits, 
perhaps  sickness  of  the  chronic  sort.  Flear  this,  for  example  : 
‘ How  beautiful  to  die  of  broken-heart,  on  Paper ! Quite 
another  thing  in  practice ; every  window  of  your  Feeling,  even 
of  your  Intellect,  as  it  were,  begrimed  and  mud-bespattered,  so 
that  no  pure  ray  can  enter  ; a whole  Drugshop  in  your  inwards  ; 
the  fordone  soul  drowning  slowly  in  quagmires  of  Disgust ! 1 

Putting  all  which  external  and  internal  miseries  together, 
may  we  not  find  in  the  following  sentences,  quite  in  our  Pro- 
fessor’s still  vein,  significance  enough  ? ‘ From  Suicide  a 

certain  aftershine  ( Nachschein ) of  Christianity  withheld  me  : 
perhaps  also  a certain  indolence  of  character ; for,  was  not 
that  a remedy  I had  at  any  time  within  reach  ? Often,  h ow- 
ever, was  there  a question  present  to  me  : Should  some  one 
now,  at  the  turning  of  that  corner,  blow  thee  suddenly  out  ol 


1 


134 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

Space,  into  the  other  World,  or  other  No-world,  by  pistol- 
shot, — how  were  it  ? On  which  ground,  too,  I often,  in  sea- 
storms  and  sieged  cities  and  other  death-scenes,  exhibited  an 
imperturbability,  which  passed,  falsely  enough,  for  courage.1 

‘ So  had  it  lasted,1  concludes  the  Wanderer,  ‘ so  had  it 
lasted,  as  in  bitter  protracted  Death-agony,  through  long 
years.  The  heart  within  me,  unvisited  by  any  heavenly  dew- 
drop  was  smouldering  in  sulphurous,  slow-consuming  fire. 
Almost  since  earliest  memory  I had  shed  no  tear ; or  once 
only  when  I,  murmuring  half-audibly,  recited  Faust’s  Death- 
song,  that  wild  Selig  der  den  er  im  Siegesglanze  jindet  (Happy 
whom  he  finds  in  Battle’s  splendour),  and  thought  that  of  this 
last  Friend  even  I was  not  forsaken,  that  Destiny  itself  could 
not  doom  me  not  to  die.  Having  no  hope,  neither  had  I any 
definite  fear,  were  it  of  Man  or  of  Devil : nay,  I often  felt  as 
if  it  might  be  solacing,  could  the  Arch-Devil  himself,  though 
in  Tartarean  terrors,  but  rise  to  me,  that  I might  tell  him  a 
little  of  my  mind.  And  yet,  strangely  enough,  I lived  in  a con- 
tinual, indefinite,  pining  fear  ; tremulous,  pusillanimous,  appre- 
hensive of  I knew  not  what ; it  seemed  as  if  all  things  in  the 
Heavens  above  and  the  Earth  beneath  would  hurt  me  ; as  if  the 
Heavens  and  the  Earth  were  but  boundless  jaws  of  a devouring 
monster,  wherein  I,  palpitating,  waited  to  be  devoured. 

‘ Full  of  such  humour,  and  perhaps  the  miserablest  man  in 
the  whole  French  Capital  or  Suburbs,  was  I,  one  sultry  Dog- 
day,  after  much  perambulation,  toiling  along  the  dirty  little 
Rue  Saint-Tliomas  de  FEnfer,  among  civic  rubbish  enough, 
in  a close  atmosphere,  and  over  pavements  hot  as  Nebuchad- 
nezzar’s Furnace ; whereby  doubtless  my  spirits  were  little 
cheered ; when,  all  at  once,  there  rose  a Thought  in  me,  and 
I asked  myself : “ What  art  thou  afraid  of  ? Wherefore,  like 
a coward,  dost  thou  forever  pip  and  whimper,  and  go  cower- 
ing and  trembling  ? Despicable  biped  ! what  is  the  sum- 
total  of  the  worst  that  lies  before  thee  ? Death  ? Well, 
Death ; and  say  the  pangs  of  Tophet  too,  and  all  that  the 
Devil  and  Man  may,  will  or  can  do  against  thee  ! Hast  thou 


135 


CHAP,  vm.]  CENTRE  OF  INDIFFERENCE 

not  a heart ; canst  thou  not  suffer  whatsoever  it  be ; and,  as 
a Child  of  Freedom,  though  outcast,  trample  Tophet  itself 
under  thy  feet,  while  it  consumes  thee  ? Let  it  come,  then ; 
I will  meet  it  and  defy  it ! ” And  as  I so  thought,  there 
rushed  like  a stream  of  fire  over  my  whole  soul ; and  I shook 
base  Fear  away  from  me  forever.  I was  strong,  of  unknown 
strength ; a spirit,  almost  a god.  Ever  from  that  time,  the 
temper  of  my  misery  was  changed : not  Fear  or  whining 
Sorrow  was  it,  but  Indignation  and  grim  fire-eyed  Defiance. 

‘ Thus  had  the  Everlasting  No  (das  ewnge  Nein)  pealed 
authoritatively  through  all  the  recesses  of  my  Being,  of  my 
Me  ; and  then  was  it  that  my  whole  Me  stood  up,  in  native 
God-created  majesty,  and  with  emphasis  recorded  its  Protest. 
Such  a Protest,  the  most  important  transaction  in  Life,  may 
that  same  Indignation  and  Defiance,  in  a psychological  point 
of  view,  be  fitly  called.  The  Everlasting  No  had  said : 
44  Behold,  thou  art  fatherless,  outcast,  and  the  Universe  is  mine 
(the  Devil’s)  ” ; to  which  my  whole  Me  now  made  answer  : “ I 
am  not  thine,  but  Free,  and  forever  hate  thee  ! ” 

4 It  is  from  this  hour’  that  I incline  to  date  my  Spiritual 
New-birth,  or  Baphometic  Fire-baptism  ; perhaps  I directly 
thereupon  began  to  be  a Man.’ 


CHAPTER  VIII 
CENTRE  OF  INDIFFERENCE 

Teufelsdrockli  turns  now  outwardly  to  the  Not-me ; and  finds  wholesomer 
food.  Ancient  Cities : Mystery  of  their  origin  and  growth : Invisible  in- 
heritances and  possessions.  Power  and  virtue  of  a true  Book.  Wagram 
Battlefield:  "War.  Great  Scenes  beheld  by  the  Pilgrim:  Great  Events, 
and  Great  Men.  Napoleon,  a divine  missionary,  preaching  La  carriere 
ouverte  aux  talens.  Teufelsdrockh  at  the  North  Cape : Modern  means  of 
self-defence.  Gunpowder  and  duelling.  The  Pilgrim,  despising  hi3 
miseries,  reaches  the  Centre  of  Indifference. 

Though,  after  this  ‘ Baphometic  Fire-baptism  ’ of  his,  our 
Wanderer  signifies  that  his  Unrest  was  but  increased  ; as, 
indeed,  4 Indignation  and  Defiance,’  especially  against  things 


136 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  II. 

in  general,  are  not  the  most  peaceable  inmates  ; yet  can  the 
Psychologist  surmise  that  it  was  no  longer  a quite  hopeless 
Unrest ; that  henceforth  it  had  at  least  a fixed  centre  to 
revolve  round.  For  the  fire-baptised  soul,  long  so  scathed  and 
thunder-riven,  here  feels  its  own  Freedom,  which  feeling  is 
its  Baphometic  Baptism  : the  citadel  of  its  whole  kingdom  it 
has  thus  gained  by  assault,  and  will  keep  inexpugnable  ; out- 
wards from  which  the  remaining  dominions,  not  indeed  with- 
out hard  battling,  will  doubtless  by  degrees  be  conquered  and 
pacificated.  Under  another  figure,  we  might  say,  if  in  that 
great  moment,  in  the  Rue  Saint-Thomas  de  VEnfer,  the  old 
inward  Satanic  School  was  not  yet  thrown  out  of  doors,  it 
received  peremptory  judicial  notice  to  quit ; — whereby,  for 
the  rest,  its  howl-chantings,  Ernulphus-cursings,  and  rebellious 
gnashings  of  teeth,  might,  in  the  meanwhile,  become  only  the 
more  tumultuous,  and  difficult  to  keep  secret. 

Accordingly,  if  we  scrutinise  these  Pilgrimings  well,  there 
is  perhaps  discernible  henceforth  a certain  incipient  method  in 
their  madness.  Not  wholly  as  a Spectre  does  Teufelsdrockh 
now  storm  through  the  world ; at  worst  as  a spectre-fighting 
Man,  nay  who  will  one  day  be  a Spectre-queller.  If  pilgriming 
restlessly  to  so  many  ‘ Saints’  Wells,’  and  ever  without  quenching 
of  his  thirst,  he  nevertheless  finds  little  secular  wells,  whereby 
from  time  to  time  some  alleviation  is  ministered.  In  a word, 
he  is  now,  if  not  ceasing,  yet  intermitting  to  ‘ eat  his  own 
heart  ’ ; and  clutches  round  him  outwardly  on  the  Not-me  for 
wholesomer  food.  Does  not  the  following  glimpse  exhibit 
him  in  a much  more  natural  state  ? 

4 Towns  also  and  Cities,  especially  the  ancient,  I failed  not 
to  look  upon  with  interest.  How  beautiful  to  see  thereby, 
as  through  a long  vista,  into  the  remote  Time  ; to  have  as  it 
were,  an  actual  section  of  almost  the  earliest  Past  brought 
safe  into  the  Present,  and  set  before  your  eyes  ! There,  in 
that  old  City,  was  a live  ember  of  Culinary  Fire  put  down, 
say  only  two-thousand  years  ago  ; and  there,  burning  more  or 
less  triumphantly,  with  such  fuel  as  the  region  yielded,  it  has 


chap,  viil]  CENTRE  OF  INDIFFERENCE  137 

burnt,  and  still  burns,  and  thou  thyself  seest  the  very  smoke 
thereof.  Ah  ! and  the  far  more  mysterious  live  ember  of 
Vital  Fire  was  then  also  put  down  there  ; and  still  miracu- 
lously burns  and  spreads  ; and  the  smoke  and  ashes  thereof 
(in  these  Judgment-Halls  and  Churchyards),  and  its  bellovvs- 
engines  (in  these  Churches),  thou  still  seest ; and  its  flame, 
looking  out  from  every  kind  countenance,  and  every  hateful 
one,  still  warms  thee  or  scorches  thee. 

4 Of  Man’s  Activity  and  Attainment  the  chief  results  are 
aeriform,  mystic,  and  preserved  in  Tradition  only  : such  are 
his  Forms  of  Government,  with  the  Authority  they  rest  on  ; 
his  Customs,  or  Fashions  both  of  Cloth-habits  and  of  Soul- 
habits  ; much  more  his  collective  stock  of  Handicrafts,  the 
whole  Faculty  he  has  acquired  of  manipulating  Nature : all 
these  things,  as  indispensable  and  priceless  as  they  are,  can- 
not in  any  way  be  fixed  under  lock  and  key,  but  must  flit, 
spirit-like,  on  impalpable  vehicles,  from  Father  to  Son  ; if 
you  demand  sight  of  them,  they  are  nowhere  to  be  met  with. 
Visible  Ploughmen  and  Hammermen  there  have  been,  ever 
from  Cain  and  Tubalcain  downwards  : but  where  does  your 
accumulated  Agricultural,  Metallurgic,  and  other  Manufactur- 
ing Skill  lie  warehoused  ? It  transmits  itself  on  the  atmo- 
spheric air,  on  the  sun’s  rays  (by  Hearing  and  by  Vision)  ; it 
is  a thing  aeriform,  impalpable,  of  quite  spiritual  sort.  In 
like  manner,  ask  me  not,  Where  are  the  Laws  ; where  is  the 
Government  ? In  vain  wilt  thou  go  to  Schonbrunn,  to 
Downing  Street,  to  the  Palais  Bourbon  : thou  findest  nothing 
there  but  brick  or  stone  houses,  and  some  bundles  of  Papers 
tied  with  tape.  'Where,  then,  is  that  same  cunningly-devised 
almighty  Government  of  theirs  to  be  laid  hands  on  ? Every- 
where, yet  nowhere  : seen  only  in  its  works,  this  too  is  a thing 
aeriform,  invisible  ; or  if  you  will,  mystic  and  miraculous.  So 
spiritual  ( geistig ) is  our  whole  daily  Life  : all  that  we  do 
springs  out  of  Mystery,  Spirit,  invisible  Force  ; only  like  a 
little  Cloud-image,  or  Armida’s  Palace,  air-built,  does  the 
Actual  body  itself  forth  from  the  great  mystic  Deep. 


138 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

‘ Visible  and  tangible  products  of  the  Past,  again,  I reckon- 
up  to  the  extent  of  three  : Cities,  with  their  Cabinets  and 
Arsenals  ; then  tilled  Fields,  to  either  or  to  both  of  which 
divisions  Roads  with  their  Bridges,  may  belong  ; and  thirdly 

Books.  In  which  third  truly,  the  last  invented,  lies  a 

worth  far  surpassing  that  of  the  two  others.  Wondrous  in- 
deed is  the  virtue  of  a true  Book.  Not  like  a dead  city  of 
stones,  yearly  crumbling,  yearly  needing  repair ; more  like 
a tilled  field,  but  then  a spiritual  field  : like  a spiritual 
tree,  let  me  rather  say,  it  stands  from  year  to  year,  and  from 
age  to  age  (we  have  Books  that  already  number  some  hundred- 
and-fifty  human  ages)  ; and  yearly  comes  its  new  produce 
of  leaves  (Commentaries,  Deductions,  Philosophical,  Political 
Systems  ; or  were  it  only  Sermons,  Pamphlets,  Journalistic 
Essays),  every  one  of  which  is  talismanic  and  thaumaturgic,  for 
it  can  persuade  men.  O thou  who  art  able  to  write  a Book, 
which  once  in  the  two  centuries  or  oftener  there  is  a man 
gifted  to  do,  envy  not  him  whom  they  name  City-builder,  and 
inexpressibly  pity  him  whom  they  name  Conqueror  or  City- 
burner  ! Thou  too  art  a Conqueror  and  Victor  ; but  of  the 
true  sort,  namely  over  the  Devil  : thou  too  hast  built  what 
will  outlast  all  marble  and  metal,  and  be  a wonder-bringing 
City  of  the  Mind,  a Temple  and  Seminary  and  Prophetic 
Mount,  whereto  all  kindreds  of  the  Earth  will  pilgrim. — 
Fool  ! why  journeyest  thou  wearisomely,  in  thy  antiquarian 
fervour,  to  gaze  on  the  stone  pyramids  of  Geeza,  or  the  clay 
ones  of  Sacchara  ? These  stand  there,  as  I can  tell  thee,  idle 
and  inert,  looking  over  the  Desert,  foolishly  enough,  for  the 
last  three-thousand  years  : but  canst  thou  not  open  thy 
Hebrew  Bible,  then,  or  even  Luther’s  Version  thereof  ? 1 

No  less  satisfactory  is  his  sudden  appearance  not  in  Battle, 
yet  on  some  Battle-field  ; which,  we  soon  gather,  must  be  that 
of  Wagram  ; so  that  here,  for  once,  is  a certain  approximation 
to  distinctiveness  of  date.  Omitting  much,  let  us  impart  what 
follows  : 

‘ Horrible  enough  ! A whole  Marchfeld  strewed  with  shell- 


CHAP.  VIII.]  CENTRE  OF  INDIFFERENCE  139 

splinters,  cannon-shot,  ruined  tumbrils,  and  dead  men  and 
horses  ; stragglers  still  remaining  not  so  much  as  buried.  And 
those  red  mould  heaps  : ay,  there  lie  the  Shells  of  Men,  out  of 
which  all  the  Life  and  Virtue  has  been  blown  ; and  now  are 
they  swept  together,  and  crammed-down  out  of  sight,  like 
blown  Egg-shells  ! — Did  Nature,  when  she  bade  the  Donau 
bring  down  his  mould-cargoes  from  the  Carinthian  and  Carpa- 
thian Heights,  and  spread  them  out  here  into  the  softest,  richest 
level, — intend  thee,  O Marchfeld,  for  a corn-bearing  Nursery, 
whereon  her  children  might  be  nursed  ; or  for  a Cockpit, 
wherein  they  might  the  more  commodiously  be  throttled  and 
tattered  ? Were  thy  three  broad  Highways,  meeting  here  from 
the  ends  of  Europe,  made  for  Ammunition-wagons,  then  ? 
Were  thy  Wagrams  and  Stillfrieds  but  so  many  ready-built 
Casemates,  wherein  the  house  of  Hapsburg  might  batter  with 
artillery,  and  with  artillery  be  battered  ? Konig  Ottokar,  amid 
yonder  hillocks,  dies  under  Rodolf  s truncheon  ; here  Kaiser 
Franz  falls  a-swoon  under  Napoleon’s  : within  which  five  cen- 
turies, to  omit  the  others,  how  has  thy  breast,  fair  Plain,  been 
defaced  and  defiled  ! The  greensward  is  torn-up  and  trampled- 
down  ; man’s  fond  care  of  it,  his  fruit-trees,  hedge-rows,  and 
pleasant  dwellings,  blown  away  with  gunpowder  ; and  the  kind 
seedfield  lies  a desolate,  hideous  Place  of  Sculls. — Neverthe- 
less, Nature  is  at  work  ; neither  shall  these  Powder-Devilkins 
with  their  utmost  devilry  gainsay  her  : but  all  that  gore  and 
carnage  will  be  shrouded-in,  absorbed  into  manure  ; and  next 
year  the  Marchfeld  will  be  green,  nay  greener.  Thrifty 
unwearied  Nature,  ever  out  of  our  great  waste  educing  some 
little  profit  of  thy  own, — how  dost  thou,  from  the  very  carcass 
of  the  Killer,  bring  Life  for  the  Living  ! 

4 What,  speaking  in  quite  unofficial  language,  is  the  net-pur- 
port and  upshot  of  war  ? To  my  own  knowledge,  for  example, 
there  dwell  and  toil,  in  the  British  village  of  Dumdrudge, 
usually  some  five-hundred  souls.  From  these,  by  certain 
44  Natural  Enemies  ” of  the  French,  there  are  successively  selected, 
during  the  French  war,  say  thirty  able-bodied  men : Dum- 


140 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

drudge,  at  her  own  expense,  has  suckled  and  nursed  them  : 
she  has,  not  without  difficulty  and  sorrow,  fed  them  up  to 
manhood,  and  even  trained  them  to  crafts,  so  that  one  can 
weave,  another  build,  another  hammer,  and  the  weakest  can 
stand  under  thirty  stone  avoirdupois.  Nevertheless,  amid 
much  weeping  and  swearing,  they  are  selected ; all  dressed  in 
red ; and  shipped  away,  at  the  public  charges,  some  two- 
thousand  miles,  or  say  only  to  the  south  of  Spain ; and  fed 
there  till  wanted.  And  now  to  that  same  spot,  in  the  south 
of  Spain,  are  thirty  similar  French  artisans,  from  a French 
Dumdrudge,  in  like  manner  wending : till  at  length,  after 
infinite  effort,  the  two  parties  come  into  actual  juxtaposition ; 
and  Thirty  stands  fronting  Thirty,  each  with  a gun  in  his 
hand.  Straightway  the  word  “ Fire  ! ” is  given  : and  they 
blow  the  souls  out  of  one  another ; and  in  place  of  sixty 
brisk  useful  craftsmen,  the  world  has  sixty  dead  carcasses, 
which  it  must  bury,  and  anew  shed  tears  for.  Had  these 
men  any  quarrel  ? Busy  as  the  Devil  is,  not  the  smallest ! 
They  lived  far  enough  apart ; were  the  entirest  strangers ; 
nay,  in  so  wide  a Universe,  there  was  even,  unconsciously,  by 
Commerce,  some  mutual  helpfulness  between  them.  How 
then  ? Simpleton ! their  Governors  had  fallen-out ; and, 
instead  of  shooting  one  another,  had  the  cunning  to  make 
these  poor  blockheads  shoot. — Alas,  so  is  it  in  Deutschland, 
and  hitherto  in  all  other  lands ; still  as  of  old,  “ what  devilry 
soever  Kings  do,  the  Greeks  must  pay  the  piper  ! ” — In  that 
fiction  of  the  English  Smollet,  it  is  true,  the  final  Cessation 
of  War  is  perhaps  prophetically  shadowed  forth ; where  the 
two  Natural  Enemies,  in  person,  take  each  a Tobacco-pipe, 
filled  with  Brimstone ; light  the  same,  and  smoke  in  one 
another’s  faces,  till  the  weaker  gives  in : but  from  such 
predicted  Peace-Era,  what  blood-filled  trenches,  and  conten- 
tious centuries,  may  still  divide  us  ! ’ 

Thus  can  the  Professor,  at  least  in  lucid  intervals,  look 
away  from  his  own  sorrows,  over  the  many-coloured  world, 
and  pertinently  enough  note  what  is  passing  there.  We  may 


chap,  viii.]  CENTRE  OF  INDIFFERENCE  141 

remark,  indeed,  that  for  the  matter  of  spiritual  culture,  if  for 
nothing  else,  perhaps  few  periods  of  his  life  were  richer  than 
this.  Internally,  there  is  the  most  momentous  instructive 
Course  of  Practical  Philosophy,  with  Experiments,  going  on  ; 
towards  the  right  comprehension  of  which  his  Peripatetic 
habits,  favourable  to  Meditation,  might  help  him  rather  than 
hinder.  Externally,  again,  as  he  wanders  to  and  fro,  there 
are,  if  for  the  longing  heart  little  substance,  yet  for  the  seeing 
eye  sights  enough : in  these  so  boundless  Travels  of  his, 
granting  that  the  Satanic  School  was  even  partially  kept 
down,  what  an  incredible  knowledge  of  our  Planet,  and  its 
Inhabitants  and  their  AYorks,  that  is  to  say,  of  all  knowable 
things,  might  not  Teufelsdrockh  acquire  ! 

‘ I have  read  in  most  Public  Libraries,’  says  he,  4 including 
those  of  Constantinople  and  Samarcand : in  most  Colleges, 
except  the  Chinese  Mandarin  ones,  I have  studied,  or  seen 
that  there  was  no  studying.  Unknown  Languages  have  I 
oftenest  gathered  from  their  natural  repertory,  the  Air,  by 
my  organ  of  Hearing ; Statistics,  Geographies,  Topographies 
came,  through  the  Eye,  almost  of  their  own  accord.  The 
ways  of  Man,  how  he  seeks  food,  and  warmth,  and  protection 
for  himself,  in  most  regions,  are  ocularly  known  to  me.  Like 
the  great  Hadrian,  I meted-out  much  of  the  terraqueous 
Globe  with  a pair  of  Compasses  that  belonged  to  myself  only. 

4 Of  great  Scenes  why  speak  ? Three  summer  days,  I 
lingered  reflecting,  and  even  composing  ( dichtete ),  by  the 
Pine-chasms  of  Vaucluse  ; and  in  that  clear  Lakelet  moistened 
my  bread.  I have  sat  under  the  Palm-trees  of  Tadrnor ; 
smoked  a pipe  among  the  ruins  of  Babylon.  The  great 
Wall  of  China  I have  seen ; and  can  testify  that  it  is  of  gray 
brick,  coped  and  covered  with  granite,  and  shows  only  second- 
rate  masonry. — Great  Events,  also,  have  not  I witnessed  ? 
Kings  sweated-down  ( ausgemergdt ) into  Berlin-and-Milan 
Customhouse-Officers ; the  World  well  won,  and  the  World 
well  lost ; oftener  than  once  a hundred-thousand  individuals 
shot  (by  each  other)  in  one  day.  All  kindreds  and  peoples 


142 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

and  nations  dashed  together,  and  shifted  and  shovelled  into 
heaps,  that  they  might  ferment  there,  and  in  time  unite. 
The  birth-pangs  of  Democracy,  wherewith  convulsed  Europe 
was  groaning  in  cries  that  reached  Heaven,  could  not  escape 
me. 

‘ For  great  Men  I have  ever  had  the  warmest  predilection  ; 
and  can  perhaps  boast  that  few  such  in  this  era  have  wholly 
escaped  me.  Great  Men  are  the  inspired  (speaking  and 
acting)  Texts  of  that  divine  Book  of  Revelations,  whereof 
a Chapter  is  completed  from  epoch  to  epoch,  and  by  some 
named  History  ; to  which  inspired  Texts  your  numerous 
talented  men,  and  your  innumerable  untalented  men,  are  the 
better  or  worse  exegetic  Commentaries,  and  wagonload  of  too- 
stupid,  heretical  or  orthodox,  weekly  Sermons.  For  my  study, 
the  inspired  Texts  themselves  ! Thus  did  not  I,  in  very  early 
days,  having  disguised  me  as  tavern-waiter,  stand  behind  the 
field-chairs,  under  that  shady  Tree  at  Treisnitz  by  the  Jena 
Highway ; waiting  upon  the  great  Schiller  and  greater 
Goethe  ; and  hearing  what  I have  not  forgotten.  For 1 

But  at  this  point  the  Editor  recalls  his  principle  of 

caution,  some  time  ago  laid  down,  and  must  suppress  much. 
Let  not  the  sacredness  of  Laurelled,  still  more,  of  Crowned 
Heads,  be  tampered  with.  Should  we,  at  a future  day,  find 
circumstances  altered,  and  the  time  come  for  Publication, 
then  may  these  glimpses  into  the  privacy  of  the  Illustrious 
be  conceded ; which  for  the  present  were  little  better  than 
treacherous,  perhaps  traitorous  Eavesdroppings.  Of  Lord 
Byron,  therefore,  of  Pope  Pius,  Emperor  Tarakwang,  and  the 
‘ White  Water-roses1  (Chinese  Carbonari)  with  their  mysteries, 
no  notice  here  ! Of  Napoleon  himself  we  shall  only,  glancing 
from  afar,  remark  that  Teufelsdrockh’s  relation  to  him  seems 
to  have  been  of  very  varied  character.  At  first  we  find  our 
poor  Professor  on  the  point  of  being  shot  as  a spy ; then 
taken  into  private  conversation,  even  pinched  on  the  ear,  yet 
presented  with  no  money ; at  last  indignantly  dismissed, 
almost  thrown  out  of  doors,  as  an  ‘ Ideologist.’  ‘ He  himself,1 


143 


CHAP,  viil]  CENTRE  OF  INDIFFERENCE 

says  the  Pi'ofessor,  £ was  among  the  completest  Ideologists,  at 
least  Ideopraxists  : in  the  Idea  (in  der  Idee ) he  lived,  moved 
and  fought.  The  man  was  a Divine  Missionary,  though 
unconscious  of  it ; and  preached,  through  the  cannon’s  throat, 
that  great  doctrine,  La  carriere  ouverte  aucc  talens  (The  Tools 
to  him  that  can  handle  them),  which  is  our  ultimate  Political 
Evangel,  wherein  alone  can  liberty  lie.  Madly  enough  he 
preached,  it  is  true,  as  Enthusiasts  and  first  Missionaries  are 
wont,  with  imperfect  utterance,  amid  much  frothy  rant ; yet 
as  articulately  perhaps  as  the  case  admitted.  Or  call  him,  if 
you  will,  an  American  Backwoodsman,  who  had  to  fell 
unpenetrated  forests,  and  battle  with  innumerable  wolves,  and 
did  not  entirely  forbear  strong  liquor,  rioting,  and  even 
theft ; whom,  notwithstanding,  the  peaceful  Sower  will  follow, 
and,  as  he  cuts  the  boundless  harvest,  bless.’ 

More  legitimate  and  decisively  authentic  is  Teufelsdrockh’s 
appearance  and  emergence  (we  know  not  well  whence)  in  the 
solitude  of  the  North  Cape,  on  that  June  Midnight.  He  has 
a ‘ light-blue  Spanish  cloak  ’ hanging  round  him,  as  his  ‘ most 
commodious,  principal,  indeed  sole  upper-garment  and  stands 
there,  on  the  World-promontory,  looking  over  the  infinite 
Brine,  like  a little  blue  Belfry  (as  we  figure),  now  motionless 
indeed,  yet  ready,  if  stirred,  to  ring  quaintest  changes. 

‘ Silence  as  of  death,’  writes  he ; ‘ for  Midnight,  even  in 
the  Arctic  latitudes,  has  its  character  : nothing  but  the  granite 
cliffs  ruddy-tinged,  the  peaceable  gurgle  of  that  slow-heaving 
Polar  Ocean,  over  which  in  the  utmost  North  the  great  Sun 
hangs  low  and  lazy,  as  if  he  too  were  slumbering.  Yet  is  his 
cloud-couch  wrought  of  crimson  and  cloth-of-gold ; yet  does 
his  light  stream  over  the  mirror  of  waters,  like  a tremulous 
fire-pillar,  shooting  downwards  to  the  abyss,  and  hide  itself 
under  my  feet.  In  such  moments,  Solitude  also  is  invaluable ; 
for  who  would  speak,  or  be  looked  on,  when  behind  him  lies 
all  Europe  and  Africa,  fast  asleep,  except  the  watchmen ; and 
before  him  the  silent  Immensity,  and  Palace  of  the  Eternal, 
whereof  our  Sun  is  but  a porch-lamp  ? 


144 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  ii. 

4 Nevertheless,  in  this  solemn  moment  comes  a man,  or 
monster,  scrambling  from  among  the  rock-hollows ; and, 
shaggy,  huge  as  the  Hyperborean  Bear,  hails  me  in  Russian 
speech  : most  probably,  therefore,  a Russian  Smuggler.  With 
courteous  brevity,  I signify  my  indifference  to  contraband 
trade,  my  humane  intentions,  yet  strong  wish  to  be  private. 
In  vain : the  monster,  counting  doubtless  on  his  superior 
stature,  and  minded  to  make  sport  for  himself,  or  perhaps 
profit,  were  it  with  murder,  continues  to  advance ; ever  assail- 
ing me  with  his  importunate  train-oil  breath ; and  now  has 
advanced,  till  we  stand  both  on  the  verge  of  the  rock,  the 
deep  Sea  rippling  greedily  down  below.  What  argument  will 
avail?  On  the  thick  Hyperborean,  cherubic  reasoning,  seraphic 
eloquence  were  lost.  Prepared  for  such  extremity,  I,  deftly 
enough,  whisk  aside  one  step ; draw  out,  from  my  interior 
reservoirs,  a sufficient  Birmingham  Ilorse-pistol,  and  say,  “ Be 
so  obliging  as  retire,  Friend  (Er  ziehe  sich  zuriicle,  Freund), 
and  with  promptitude  ! 11  This  logic  even  the  Hyperborean 
understands  : fast  enough,  with  apologetic,  petitionary  growl, 
he  sidles  off ; and,  except  for  suicidal  as  well  as  homicidal 
purposes,  need  not  return. 

6 Such  I hold  to  be  the  genuine  use  of  Gunpowder : that  it 
makes  all  men  alike  tall.  Nay,  if  thou  be  cooler,  cleverer 
than  I,  if  thou  have  more  Mind,  though  all  but  no  Body  what- 
ever, then  canst  thou  kill  me  first,  and  art  the  taller.  Hereby, 
at  last,  is  the  Goliath  powerless,  and  the  David  resistless ; 
savage  Animalism  is  nothing,  inventive  Spiritualism  is  all. 

‘ With  respect  to  Duels,  indeed,  I have  my  own  ideas.  Few 
things,  in  this  so  surprising  world,  strike  me  with  more 
surprise.  Two  little  visual  Spectra  of  men,  hovering  with 
insecure  enough  cohesion  in  the  midst  of  the  Unfathomable, 
and  to  dissolve  therein,  at  any  rate,  very  soon, — make  pause  at 
the  distance  of  twelve  paces  asunder;  whirl  round;  and,  simul- 
taneously by  the  cunningest  mechanism,  explode  one  another 
into  Dissolution  ; and  off-hand  become  Air,  and  Non-extant ! 
Deuce  on  it  (verdammt),  the  little  spitfires  ! — Nay,  I think 


CHAP.  VIII.]  CENTRE  OF  INDIFFERENCE  145 

with  old  Hugo  von  Trimberg  : “ God  must  needs  laugh  out- 
right, could  such  a thing  be,  to  see  his  wondrous  Manikins 
here  below.11  1 

But  amid  these  specialties,  let  us  not  forget  the  great 
generality,  which  is  our  chief  quest  here  : How  prospered  the 
inner  man  of  Teufelsdrockh  under  so  much  outward  shifting  ? 
Does  Legion  still  lurk  in  him,  though  repressed ; or  has  he 
exorcised  that  Devil’s  Brood  ? We  can  answer  that  the 
symptoms  continue  promising.  Experience  is  the  grand 
spiritual  Doctor ; and  with  him  Teufelsdrockh  has  been  long 
a patient,  swallowing  many  a bitter  bolus.  Unless  our  poor 
Friend  belong  to  the  numerous  class  of  Incurables,  which  seems 
not  likely,  some  cure  will  doubtless  be  effected.  We  should 
rather  say  that  Legion,  or  the  Satanic  School,  was  now  pretty 
well  extirpated  and  cast  out,  but  next  to  nothing  introduced 
in  its  room  ; whereby  the  heart  remains,  for  the  while,  in  a 
quiet  but  no  comfortable  state. 

‘At  length,  after  so  much  roasting,1  thus  writes  our  Auto- 
biographer, ‘ I was  what  you  might  name  calcined.  Pray  only 
that  it  be  not  rather,  as  is  the  more  frequent  issue,  reduced  to 
a caput-mortuum  ! But  in  any  case,  by  mere  dint  of  practice, 
I had  grown  familiar  with  many  things.  Wretchedness  was 
still  wretched  ; but  I could  now  partly  see  through  it,  and 
despise  it.  Which  highest  mortal,  in  this  inane  Existence, 
had  I not  found  a Shadow-hunter,  or  Shadow-hunted ; and, 
when  I looked  through  his  brave  garnitures,  miserable  enough? 
Thy  wishes  have  all  been  sniffed  aside,  thought  I : but  what, 
had  they  even  been  all  granted  ! Did  not  the  Boy  Alexander 
weep  because  he  had  not  two  Planets  to  conquer ; or  a whole 
Solar  System ; or  after  that,  a whole  LTni verse  ? Ach  Gott, 
when  I gazed  into  these  Stars,  have  they  not  looked-down  on 
me  as  if  with  pity,  from  their  serene  spaces  ; like  Eyes  glisten- 
ing with  heavenly  tears  over  the  little  lot  of  man  ! Thousands 
of  human  generations,  all  as  noisy  as  our  own,  have  been 
swallowed-up  of  Time,  and  there  remains  no  wreck  of  them 


K 


146 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  H. 

any  more ; and  Arcturus  and  Orion  and  Sirius  and  the 
Pleiades  are  still  shining  in  their  courses,  clear  and  young,  as 
when  the  Shepherd  first  noted  them  in  the  plain  of  Shinar. 
Pshaw  ! what  is  this  paltry  little  Dog-cage  of  an  Earth  ; what 
art  thou  that  sittest  whining  there  ? Thou  art  still  Nothing, 
Nobody  : true  ; but  who,  then,  is  Something,  Somebody  ? For 
thee  the  Family  of  Man  has  no  use  ; it  rejects  thee  ; thou  art 
wholly  as  a dissevered  limb:  so  be  it;  perhaps  it  is  better  so!1 

Too-heavy-laden  Teufelsdrockh  ! Yet  surely  his  bands  are 
loosening ; one  day  he  will  hurl  the  burden  far  from  him,  and 
bound  forth  free  and  with  a second  youth. 

‘This,1  says  our  Professor,  ‘was  the  Centre  of  Indiffer- 
ence I had  now  reached  ; through  which  whoso  travels  from 
the  Negative  Pole  to  the  Positive  must  necessarily  pass.1 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  EVERLASTING  YEA 

Temptations  in  the  “Wilderness : Victory  over  the  Tempter.  Annihilation 
of  Self.  Belief  in  God,  and  love  to  Man.  The  Origin  of  Evil,  a problem 
ever  requiring  to  be  solved  anew : Teuf  elsdrockh’s  solution.  Love  of  Hap- 
piness a vain  whim : A Higher  in  man  than  Love  of  Happiness.  The 
Everlasting  Yea.  “Worship  of  Sorrow.  Voltaire : his  task  now  finished. 
Conviction  worthless,  impossible,  without  Conduct.  The  true  Ideal,  the 
Actual : Up  and  work  ! 

‘ Temptations  in  the  Wilderness  ! 1 exclaims  Teufelsdrockh  : 
‘Have  we  not  all  to  be  tried  with  such?  Not  so  easily  can  the 
old  Adam,  lodged  in  us  by  birth,  be  dispossessed.  Our  Life 
is  compassed  round  with  Necessity;  yet  is  the  meaning  of  Life 
itself  no  other  than  Freedom,  than  Voluntary  Force  : thus 
have  we  a warfare ; in  the  beginning,  especially,  a hard-fought 
battle.  For  the  God-given  mandate,  Work  thou  in  Welldoing, 
lies  mysteriously  written,  in  Promethean  Prophetic  Characters, 
in  our  hearts ; and  leaves  us  no  rest,  night  or  day,  till  it  be 
deciphered  and  obeyed  ; till  it  burn  forth,  in  our  conduct,  a 
visible,  acted  Gospel  of  Freedom.  And  as  the  clay-given 


CHAP.  IX.]  THE  EVERLASTING  YEA  147 

mandate,  Eat  tliou  and  be  filed,  at  the  same  time  persuasively 
proclaims  itself  through  every  nerve, — must  not  there  be  a 
confusion,  a contest,  before  the  better  Influence  can  become 
the  upper  ? 

4 To  me  nothing  seems  more  natural  than  that  the  Son  of 
Man,  when  such  God-given  mandate  first  prophetically  stirs 
within  him,  and  the  Clay  must  now  be  vanquished  or  vanquish, 
— should  be  earned  of  the  spirit  into  grim  Solitudes,  and 
there  fronting  the  Tempter  do  grimmest  battle  with  him  ; 
defiantly  setting  him  at  naught,  till  he  yield  and  fly.  Name 
it  as  we  choose  : with  or  without  visible  Devil,  whether  in 
the  natural  Desert  of  rocks  and  sands,  or  in  the  populous 
moral  Desert  of  selfishness  and  baseness, — to  such  Temptation 
are  we  all  called.  Unhappy  if  we  are  not ! Unhappy  if  we 
are  but  Half-men,  in  whom  that  divine  handwriting  has  never 
blazed  forth,  all-subduing,  in  true  sun-splendour ; but  quivers 
dubiously  amid  meaner  lights  : or  smoulders,  in  dull  pain,  in 
darkness,  under  earthly  vapours  ! — Our  Wilderness  is  the  wide 
World  in  an  Atheistic  Century ; our  Forty  Days  are  long 
years  of  suffering  and  fasting  : nevertheless,  to  these  also 
comes  an  end.  Yes,  to  me  also  was  given,  if  not  Victory,  yet 
the  consciousness  of  Battle,  and  the  resolve  to  persevere  therein 
while  life  or  faculty  is  left.  To  me  also,  entangled  in  the 
enchanted  forests,  demon-peopled,  doleful  of  sight  and  of 
sound,  it  was  given,  after  weariest  wanderings,  to  work  out 
my  way  into  the  higher  sunlight  slopes — of  that  Mountain 
which  has  no  summit,  or  whose  summit  is  in  Heaven  only ! 1 

He  says  elsewhere,  under  a less  ambitious  figure ; as  figures 
are,  once  for  all,  natural  to  him  : 4 Has  not  thy  Life  been 

that  of  most  sufficient  men  ( tuchtigen  Manner ) thou  hast 
known  in  this  generation  ? An  outflush  of  foolish  young 
Enthusiasm,  like  the  first  fallow-crop,  wherein  are  as  many 
weeds  as  valuable  herbs  : this  all  parched  away,  under  the 
Droughts  of  practical  and  spiritual  Unbelief,  as  Disappoint- 
ment, in  thought  and  act,  often-repeated  gave  rise  to  Doubt, 
and  Doubt  gradually  settled  into  Denial  ! If  I have  had  a 


148 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

second-crop,  and  now  see  the  perennial  greensward,  and  sit 
under  umbrageous  cedars,  which  defy  all  Drought  (and 
Doubt) ; herein  too,  be  the  Heavens  praised,  I am  not  with- 
out examples,  and  even  exemplars.’ 

So  that,  for  Teufelsdrockh  also,  there  has  been  a 4 glorious 
revolution  ’ : these  mad  shadow-hunting  and  shadow-hunted 
Pilgrimings  of  his  were  but  some  purifying  4 Temptation 
in  the  Wilderness,’  before  his  apostolic  work  (such  as  it  was) 
could  begin ; which  Temptation  is  now  happily  over,  and  the 
Devil  once  more  worsted  ! Was  4 that  high  moment  in  the 
Rue  de  TEnferJ  then,  properly  the  turning-point  of  the  battle  ; 
when  the  Fiend  said,  Worship  me,  or  he  torn  in  shreds ; and 
was  answered  valiantly  with  an  Apage  Satana  ? — Singular 
Teufelsdrockh,  would  thou  hadst  told  thy  singular  story  in 
plain  words  ! But  it  is  fruitless  to  look  there,  in  those  Paper- 
bags,  for  such.  Nothing  but  innuendoes,  figurative  crotchets  : 
a typical  Shadow,  fitfully  wavering,  prophetico-satiric ; no 
clear  logical  Picture.  4 How  paint  to  the  sensual  eye,’  asks  he 
once,  4 what  passes  in  the  Holy-of-Holies  of  Man’s  Soul ; in 
what  words,  known  to  these  profane  times,  speak  even  afar- off 
of  the  unspeakable  ? ’ We  ask  in  turn  : Why  perplex  these 
times,  profane  as  they  are,  with  needless  obscurity,  by  omission 
and  by  commission  ? Not  mystical  only  is  our  Professor,  but 
whimsical ; and  involves  himself,  now  more  than  ever,  in  eye- 
bewildering  chiaroscuro.  Successive  glimpses,  here  faithfully 
imparted,  our  more  gifted  readers  must  endeavour  to  combine 
for  their  own  behoof. 

He  says  : 4 The  hot  Harmattan  wind  had  raged  itself  out ; 

its  howl  went  silent  within  me ; and  the  long-deafened  soul 
could  now  hear.  I paused  in  my  wild  wanderings ; and  sat 
me  down  to  wait,  and  consider ; for  it  was  as  if  the  hour  of 
change  drew  nigh.  I seemed  to  surrender,  to  renounce  utterly, 
and  say  : Fly,  then,  false  shadows  of  Hope  ; I will  chase  you 
no  more,  I will  believe  you  no  more.  And  ye  too,  haggard 
spectres  of  Fear,  I care  not  for  you ; ye  too  are  all  shadows 
and  a lie.  Let  me  rest  here  : for  I am  way-weary  and  life- 


CHAP,  ix.]  THE  EVERLASTING  YEA  149 

weary ; I will  rest  here,  were  it  but  to  die  : to  die  or  to  live 
is  alike  to  me  ; alike  insignificant.’ — And  again  : 4 Here,  then, 

as  I lay  in  that  Centre  of  Indifference  ; cast,  doubtless  by 
benignant  upper  Influence,  into  a healing  sleep,  the  heavy 
dreams  rolled  gradually  away,  and  I awoke  to  a new  Heaven 
and  a new  Earth.  The  first  preliminary  moral  Act,  Annihil- 
ation of  Self  ( Selbst-todtung ),  had  been  happily  accomplished  ; 
and  my  mind’s  eyes  were  now  unsealed,  and  its  hands  ungyved.’ 

Might  we  not  also  conjecture  that  the  following  passage 
refers  to  his  Locality,  during  this  same  ‘ healing  sleep  ’ ; that 
his  Pilgrim-staff  lies  cast  aside  here,  on  4 the  high  table-land  ’ ; 
and  indeed  that  the  repose  is  already  taking  wholesome  effect 
on  him  ? If  it  were  not  that  the  tone,  in  some  parts,  has 
more  of  riancy,  even  of  levity,  than  we  could  have  expected ! 
However,  in  Teufelsdrockh,  there  is  always  the  strangest 
Dualism  : light  dancing,  with  guitar-music,  will  be  going  on 
in  the  fore-court,  while  by  fits  from  within  comes  the  faint 
whimpering  of  woe  and  wail.  We  transcribe  the  piece  entire. 

4 Beautiful  it  was  to  sit  there,  as  in  my  skyey  Tent,  musing 
and  meditating ; on  the  high  table-land,  in  front  of  the 
Mountains  ; over  me,  as  roof,  the  azure  Dome,  and  around 
me,  for  walls,  four  azure-flowing  curtains, — namely,  of  the 
Four  azure  Winds,  on  whose  bottom-fringes  also  I have  seen 
gilding.  And  then  to  fancy  the  fair  Castles  that  stood 
sheltered  in  these  Mountain  hollows ; with  their  green  flower- 
lawns,  and  white  dames  and  damosels,  lovely  enough : or 
better  still,  the  straw-roofed  Cottages,  wherein  stood  many  a 
Mother  baking  bread,  with  her  children  round  her : — all 
hidden  and  protectingly  folded-up  in  the  valley-folds ; yet 
there  and  alive,  as  sure  as  if  I beheld  them.  Or  to  see,  as 
well  as  fancy,  the  nine  Towns  and  Villages,  that  lay  round  my 
mountain-seat,  which,  in  still  weather,  were  wont  to  speak  to 
me  (by  their  steeple-bells)  with  metal  tongue ; and,  in  almost 
all  weather,  proclaimed  their  vitality  by  repeated  Smoke- 
clouds  ; whereon,  as  on  a culinary  horologe,  I might  read  the 
hour  of  the  day.  For  it  was  the  smoke  of  cookery,  as  kind 


150 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

housewives  at  morning,  midday,  eventide,  were  boiling  their 
husbands’  kettles ; and  ever  a blue  pillar  rose  up  into  the 
air,  successively  or  simultaneously,  from  each  of  the  nine, 
saying,  as  plainly  as  smoke  could  say : Such  and  such  a 
meal  is  getting  ready  here.  Not  uninteresting ! For  you 
have  the  whole  Borough,  with  all  its  love-makings  and 
scandal-mongeries,  contentions  and  contentments,  as  in  minia- 
ture, and  could  cover  it  all  with  your  hat. — If,  in  my  wide 
Wayfarings,  I had  learned  to  look  into  the  business  of  the 
World  in  its  details,  here  perhaps  was  the  place  for  combining 
it  into  general  propositions,  and  deducing  inferences  there- 
from. 

4 Often  also  could  I see  the  black  Tempest  marching  in 
anger  through  the  Distance : round  some  Schreckhorn,  as 
yet  grim-blue,  would  the  eddying  vapour  gather,  and  thei’e 
tumultuously  eddy,  and  flow  down  like  a mad  witch’s  hair ; 
till,  after  a space,  it  vanished,  and,  in  the  clear  sunbeam,  your 
Schreckhorn  stood  smiling  grim-white,  for  the  vapour  had 
held  snow.  How  thou  fermentest  and  elaboratest,  in  thy 
great  fermenting-vat  and  laboratory  of  an  Atmosphere,  of  a 
World,  0 Nature  ! — Or  what  is  Nature  ? Ha  ! why  do  I not 
name  thee  God  ? Art  not  thou  the  44  Living  Garment  of  God”  ? 
O Heavens,  is  it,  in  very  deed,  He,  then,  that  ever  speaks 
through  thee ; that  lives  and  loves  in  thee,  that  lives  and 
loves  in  me  ? 

4 Fore-shadows,  call  them  rather  fore-splendours,  of  that 
Truth,  and  Beginning  of  Truths,  fell  mysteriously  over  my 
soul.  Sweeter  than  Dayspring  to  the  Shipwrecked  in  Nova 
Zembla ; ah,  like  the  mother’s  voice  to  her  little  child  that 
strays  bewildered,  weeping,  in  unknown  tumults ; like  soft 
streamings  of  celestial  music  to  my  too-exasperated  heart, 
came  that  Evangel.  The  Universe  is  not  dead  and  demoniacal, 
a charnel-house  with  spectres ; but  godlike,  and  my  Father’s  ! 

4 With  other  eyes,  too,  could  I now  look  upon  my  fellow 
man  : with  an  infinite  Love,  an  infinite  Pity.  Poor,  wander- 
ing, wayward  man  ! Art  thou  not  tried,  and  beaten  with 


CHAP.  IX.]  THE  EVERLASTING  YEA  151 

stripes,  even  as  I am  ? Ever,  whether  thou  bear  the  royal 
mantle  or  the  beggar’s  gabardine,  art  thou  not  so  weary,  so 
heavy-laden ; and  thy  Bed  of  Rest  is  but  a Grave.  O my 
Brother,  my  Brother,  why  cannot  I shelter  thee  in  my  bosom, 
and  wipe  away  all  tears  from  thy  eyes  ! — Truly,  the  din  of 
many-voiced  Life,  which,  in  this  solitude,  with  the  mind’s 
organ,  I could  hear,  was  no  longer  a maddening  discord,  but 
a melting  one ; like  inarticulate  cries,  and  sobbings  of  a dumb 
creature,  which  in  the  ear  of  Heaven  are  prayers.  The  poor 
Earth,  with  her  poor  joys,  was  now  my  needy  Mother,  not  my 
cruel  Stepdame ; Man,  with  his  so  mad  Wants  and  so  mean 
Endeavours,  had  become  the  dearer  to  me ; and  even  for  his 
sufferings  and  his  sins,  I now  first  named  him  Brother.  Thus 
was  I standing  in  the  porch  of  that  “ Sanctuary  of  Sorrow  ” ; 
by  strange,  steep  ways  had  I too  been  guided  thither ; and 
ere  long  its  sacred  gates  would  open,  and  the  “ Divine  Depth 
of  Sorrow"  lie  disclosed  to  me.’ 

The  Professor  says,  he  here  first  got  eye  on  the  Knot  that 
had  been  strangling  him,  and  straightway  could  unfasten  it, 
and  was  free.  ‘ A vain  interminable  controversy,’  writes  he, 
‘ touching  what  is  at  present  called  Origin  of  Evil,  or  some 
such  thing,  arises  in  every  soul,  since  the  beginning  of  the 
world ; and  in  every  soul,  that  would  pass  from  idle  Suffering 
into  actual  Endeavouring,  must  first  be  put  an  end  to.  The 
most,  in  our  time,  have  to  go  content  with  a simple,  incom- 
plete enough  Suppression  of  this  controversy ; to  a few  some 
Solution  of  it  is  indispensable.  In  every  new  era,  too,  such 
Solution  comes-out  in  different  terms ; and  ever  the  Solution 
of  the  last  era  has  become  obsolete,  and  is  found  unserviceable. 
For  it  is  man’s  nature  to  change  his  Dialect  from  century  to 
century ; he  cannot  help  it  though  he  would.  The  authentic 
Church-Catechism  of  our  present  century  has  not  yet  fallen 
into  my  hands  : meanwhile,  for  my  own  private  behoof,  1 
attempt  to  elucidate  the  matter  so.  Man’s  Unhappiness  as  I 
construe,  comes  of  his  Greatness ; it  is  because  there  is  an 
Infinite  in  him,  which  with  all  his  cunning  he  cannot  quite 


152 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

bury  under  the  Finite.  Will  the  whole  Finance  Ministers  and 
Upholsterers  and  Confectioners  of  modern  Europe  undertake, 
in  joint-stock  company,  to  make  one  Shoeblack  happy  ? They 
cannot  accomplish  it,  above  an  hour  or  two  : for  the  Shoe- 
black also  has  a Soul  quite  other  than  his  Stomach ; and 
would  require,  if  you  consider  it,  for  his  permanent  satisfac- 
tion and  saturation,  simply  this  allotment,  no  more,  and  no 
less  : God's  infinite  Universe  altogether  to  himself,  therein  to 
enjoy  infinitely,  and  fill  every  wish  as  fast  as  it  rose. 
Oceans  of  Hochheimer,  a Throat  like  that  of  Ophiuchus : 
speak  not  of  them ; to  the  infinite  Shoeblack  they  are  as 
nothing.  No  sooner  is  your  ocean  filled,  than  he  grumbles 
that  it  might  have  been  of  better  vintage.  Try  him  with 
half  of  a Universe,  of  an  Omnipotence,  he  sets  to  quarrelling 
with  the  proprietor  of  the  other  half,  and  declares  himself  the 
most  maltreated  of  men. — Always  there  is  a black  spot  in  our 
sunshine : it  is  even,  as  I said,  the  Shadow  of  Ourselves. 

‘But  the  whim  we  have  of  Happiness  is  somewhat  thus. 
By  certain  valuations,  and  averages,  of  our  own  striking,  we 
come  upon  some  sort  of  average  terrestrial  lot ; this  we  fancy 
belongs  to  us  by  nature,  and  of  indefeasible  right.  It  is 
simple  payment  of  our  wages,  of  our  deserts ; requires  neither 
thanks  nor  complaint ; only  such  overplus  as  there  may  be  do 
we  account  Happiness ; any  deficit  again  is  Misery.  Now 
consider  that  we  have  the  valuation  of  our  own  deserts  our- 
selves, and  what  a fund  of  Self-conceit  there  is  in  each  of  us, 
— do  you  wonder  that  the  balance  should  so  often  dip  the 
wrong  way,  and  many  a Blockhead  cry : See  there,  what  a 
payment ; was  ever  worthy  gentleman  so  used  ! — I tell  thee, 
Blockhead,  it  all  comes  of  thy  Vanity ; of  what  thou  fanciest 
those  same  deserts  of  thine  to  be.  Fancy  that  thou  deservest 
to  be  hanged  (as  is  most  likely),  thou  wilt  feel  it  happiness  to 
be  only  shot : fancy  that  thou  deservest  to  be  hanged  in  a 
hair-halter,  it  will  be  a luxury  to  die  in  hemp. 

‘ So  true  is  it,  what  I then  said,  that  the  Fraction  of  Life 
can  he  increased  in  value  not  so  much  hy  increasing  your 


CHAP.  IX.]  THE  EVERLASTING  YEA  153 

Numerator  as  by  lessening  your  Denominator.  Nay,  unless 
my  Algebra  deceive  me,  Unity  itself  divided  by  Zero  will  give 
Infinity.  Make  thy  claim  of  wages  a zero,  then ; thou  hast 
the  world  under  thy  feet.  Well  did  the  Wisest  of  our  time 
write  : “ It  is  only  with  Renunciation  ( Entsagen ) that  Life, 
properly  speaking,  can  be  said  to  begin.” 

‘I  asked  myself:  What  is  this  that,  ever  since  earliest  years, 
thou  hast  been  fretting  and  fuming,  and  lamenting  and  self- 
tormenting,  on  account  of  ? Say  it  in  a word  : is  it  not 
because  thou  art  not  happy  ? Because  the  Thou  (sweet 
gentleman)  is  not  sufficiently  honoured,  nourished,  soft-bedded, 
and  lovingly  cared-for  ? Foolish  soul  ! What  Act  of  Legis- 
lature was  there  that  thou  shouldst  be  Happy  ? A little 
while  ago  thou  hadst  no  right  to  be  at  all.  What  if  thou 
wert  born  and  predestined  not  to  be  Happy,  but  to  be 
Unhappy  ! Art  thou  nothing  other  than  a Vulture,  then,  that 
fliest  through  the  Universe  seeking  after  somewhat  to  eat ; 
and  shrieking  dolefully  because  carrion  enough  is  not  given 
thee  ? Close  thy  Byron  ; open  thy  Goethe.'1 

‘ Es  leuchtet  mir  ein,  I see  a glimpse  of  it ! ’ cries  he  else- 
where : ‘ there  is  in  man  a Higher  than  Love  of  Happiness : 
he  can  do  without  Happiness,  and  instead  thereof  find 
Blessedness ! Was  it  not  to  preach-forth  this  same  Higher 
that  sages  and  martyrs,  the  Poet  and  the  Priest,  in  all  times, 
have  spoken  and  suffered ; bearing  testimony,  through  life  and 
through  death,  of  the  Godlike  that  is  in  Man,  and  how  in  the 
Godlike  only  has  he  Strength  and  Freedom  ? Which  God- 
inspired  Doctrine  art  thou  also  honoured  to  be  taught ; O 
Heavens  ! and  broken  with  manifold  merciful  Afflictions,  even 
till  thou  become  contrite,  and  learn  it  ! O,  thank  thy  Destiny 
for  these  ; thankfully  bear  what  yet  remain  : thou  hadst  need 
of  them  ; the  Self  in  thee  needed  to  be  annihilated.  By  benig- 
nant fever-paroxysms  is  Life  rooting  out  the  deep-seated  chronic 
Disease,  and  triumphs  over  Death.  On  the  roaring  billows  of 
Time,  thou  art  not  engulfed,  but  borne  aloft  into  the  azure  of 
Eternity.  Love  not  Pleasure  ; love  God.  This  is  the  Ever- 


154 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

lasting  Yla,  wherein  all  contradiction  is  solved  : wherein 
whoso  walks  and  works,  it  is  well  with  him.’ 

And  again  : 4 Small  is  it  that  thou  canst  trample  the  Earth 
with  its  injuries  under  thy  feet,  as  old  Greek  Zeno  trained 
thee  : thou  canst  love  the  Earth  while  it  injures  thee,  and 
even  because  it  injures  thee  ; for  this  a Greater  than  Zeno 
was  needed,  and  he  too  was  sent.  Knowest  thou  that 
“ Worship  of  Sorrow  ” ? The  Temple  thereof,  founded  some 
eighteen  centuries  ago,  now  lies  in  ruins,  overgrown  with 
jungle,  the  habitation  of  doleful  creatures  : nevertheless, 
venture  forward  ; in  a low  crypt,  arched  out  of  falling  frag- 
ments, thou  findest  the  Altar  still  there,  and  its  sacred  Lamp 
perennially  burning.’ 

Without  pretending  to  comment  on  which  strange  utter- 
ances, the  Editor  will  only  remark,  that  there  lies  beside  them 
much  of  a still  more  questionable  character  ; unsuited  to  the 
general  apprehension  ; nay  wherein  he  himself  does  not  see 
his  way.  Nebulous  disquisitions  on  Religion,  yet  not  without 
bursts  of  splendour ; on  the  4 perennial  continuance  of  In- 
spiration ’ ; on  Prophecy ; that  there  are  4 true  Priests,  as 
well  as  Baal-Priests,  in  our  own  day  ’ : with  more  of  the 
like  sort.  We  select  some  fractions,  by  way  of  finish  to 
this  farrago. 

4 Cease,  my  much-respected  Herr  von  Voltaire,’  thus  apostro- 
phises the  Professor  : 4 shut  thy  sweet  voice  ; for  the  task 
appointed  thee  seems  finished.  Sufficiently  hast  thou  demon- 
strated this  proposition,  considerable  or  otherwise  : That  the 
Mythus  of  the  Christian  Religion  looks  not  in  the  eighteenth 
century  as  it  did  in  the  eighth.  Alas,  were  thy  six-and-thirty 
quartos,  and  the  six-and-thirty  thousand  other  quartos  and 
folios,  and  flying  sheets  or  reams,  printed  before  and  since  on 
the  same  subject,  all  needed  to  convince  us  of  so  little  ! But 
what  next  ? Wilt  thou  help  us  to  embody  the  divine  Spirit  of 
that  Religion  in  a new  Mythus,  in  a new  vehicle  and  vesture, 
that  our  Souls,  otherwise  too  like  perishing,  may  live  ? What ! 
thou  hast  no  faculty  in  that  kind  ? Only  a torch  for  burning, 


CHAP.  IX.]  THE  EVERLASTING  YEA  155 

no  hammer  for  building  ? Take  our  thanks,  then,  and 

thyself  away. 

4 Meanwhile  what  are  antiquated  Mythuses  to  me  ? Or  is 
the  God  present,  felt  in  my  own  heart,  a thing  which  Herr  von 
Voltaire  will  dispute  out  of  me  ; or  dispute  into  me  ? To  the 
44  Worship  of  Sorroio ” ascribe  what  origin  and  genesis  thou 
pleasest,  has  not  that  Worship  originated,  and  been  generated  ; 
is  it  not  here  ? Feel  it  in  thy  heart,  and  then  say  whether  it 
is  of  God  ! This  is  Belief ; all  else  is  Opinion, — for  which 
latter  whoso  will,  let  him  worry  and  be  worried.’ 

4 Neither,’  observes  he  elsewhere,  4 shall  ye  tear-out  one 
another’s  eyes,  struggling  over  44  Plenary  Inspiration,”  and 
such-like  : try  rather  to  get  a little  even  Partial  Inspiration, 
each  of  you  for  himself.  One  Bible  I know,  of  whose  Plenary 
Inspiration  doubt  is  not  so  much  as  possible  ; nay  with  my  own 
eyes  I saw  the  God’s-Hand  writing  it : thereof  all  other  Bibles 
are  but  Leaves, — say,  in  Picture-Writing  to  assist  the  weaker 
faculty.’ 

Or,  to  give  the  wearied  reader  relief,  and  bring  it  to  an 
end,  let  him  take  the  following  perhaps  more  intelligible 
passage  : 

4 To  me,  in  this  our  life,’  says  the  Professor,  4 which  is  an 
internecine  warfare  with  the  Time-spirit,  other  warfare  seems 
questionable.  Hast  thou  in  any  way  a Contention  with  thy 
brother,  I advise  thee,  think  well  what  the  meaning  thereof  is. 
If  thou  gauge  it  to  the  bottom,  it  is  simply  this  : 44  Fellow, 
see  ! thou  art  taking  more  than  thy  share  of  Happiness  in  the 
world,  something  from  my  share  : which,  by  the  Heavens, 
thou  shalt  not ; nay  I will  fight  thee  rather.” — Alas,  and  the 
whole  lot  to  be  divided  is  such  a beggarly  matter,  truly  a 44  feast 
of  shells,”  for  the  substance  has  been  spilled  out  : not  enough 
to  quench  one  Appetite  ; and  the  collective  human  species 
clutching  at  them  ! — Can  we  not,  in  all  such  cases,  rather 
say  : 44  Take  it,  thou  too-ravenous  individual ; take  that  pitiful 
additional  fraction  of  a share,  which  I reckoned  mine,  but  which 
thou  so  wantest  ; take  it  with  a blessing  : would  to  Heaven  I 


156 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  II. 

had  enough  for  thee  ! ” — If  Fichte’s  Wissenschaftslehre  be,  “ to 
a certain  extent,  Applied  Christianity,”  surely  to  a still  greater 
extent,  so  is  this.  We  have  here  not  a Whole  Duty  of  Man, 
yet  a Half  Duty,  namely  the  Passive  half : could  we  but  do  it, 
as  we  can  demonstrate  it  ! 

‘ But  indeed  Conviction,  were  it  never  so  excellent,  is 
worthless  till  it  convert  itself  into  Conduct.  Nay  properly 
Conviction  is  not  possible  till  then  ; inasmuch  as  all  Specula- 
tion is  by  nature  endless,  formless,  a vortex  amid  vortices  : 
only  by  a felt  indubitable  certainty  of  Experience  does  it  find 
any  centre  to  revolve  round,  and  so  fashion  itself  into  a 
system.  Most  true  is  it,  as  a wise  man  teaches  us,  that 
“ Doubt  of  any  sort  cannot  be  removed  except  by  Action.” 
On  which  ground,  too,  let  him  who  gropes  painfully  in  dark- 
ness or  uncertain  light,  and  prays  vehemently  that  the  dawn 
may  ripen  into  day,  lay  this  other  precept  well  to  heart, 
which  to  me  was  of  invaluable  service  : “ Do  the  Duty  which 
lies  nearest  thee”  which  thou  knowest  to  be  a Duty  ! Thy 
second  Duty  will  already  have  become  clearer. 

‘ May  we  not  say,  however,  that  the  hour  of  Spiritual 
Enfranchisement  is  even  this  : When  your  Ideal  World, 
wherein  the  whole  man  has  been  dimly  struggling  and  in- 
expressibly languishing  to  work,  becomes  revealed,  and  thrown 
open  ; and  you  discover,  with  amazement  enough,  like  the 
Lothario  in  Wilhelm  Meister,  that  your  “ America  is  here  or 
nowhere  ” ? The  Situation  that  has  not  its  Duty,  its  Ideal, 
was  never  yet  occupied  by  man.  Yes  here,  in  this  poor, 
miserable,  hampered,  despicable  Actual,  wherein  thou  even 
now  standest,  here  or  nowhere  is  thy  Ideal  : work  it  out 
therefrom  ; and  working,  believe,  live,  be  free.  Fool  ! the 
Ideal  is  in  thyself,  the  impediment  too  is  in  thyself : thy 
Condition  is  but  the  stuff  thou  art  to  shape  that  same  Ideal 
out  of : what  matters  whether  such  stuff  be  of  this  sort  or 
that,  so  the  Form  thou  give  it  be  heroic,  be  poetic  ? O thou 
that  pinest  in  the  imprisonment  of  the  Actual,  and  criest 
bitterly  to  the  gods  for  a kingdom  wherein  to  rule  and  create, 


PAUSE 


CHAP.  X.] 


157 


know  this  of  a truth  : the  thing  thou  seekest  is  already  with 
thee,  “ here  or  nowhere,”  couldst  thou  only  see  ! 

‘ But  it  is  with  man’s  Soul  as  it  was  with  Nature  : the  be- 
ginning of  Creation  is — Light.  Till  the  eye  have  vision,  the 
whole  members  are  in  bonds.  Divine  moment,  when  over  the 
tempest-tost  Soul,  as  once  over  the  wild-weltering  Chaos,  it  is 
spoken  : Let  there  be  Light  ! Ever  to  the  greatest  that  has 
felt  such  moment,  is  it  not  miraculous  and  God-announcing  ; 
even  as,  under  simpler  figures,  to  the  simplest  and  least.  The 
mad  primeval  Discord  is  hushed  ; the  rudely -jumbled  conflict- 
ing elements  bind  themselves  into  separate  Firmaments  : deep 
silent  rock-foundations  are  built  beneath  ; and  the  skyey  vault 
with  its  everlasting  Luminaries  above  : instead  of  a dark 
wasteful  Chaos,  we  have  a blooming,  fertile,  heaven-encom- 
passed World. 

‘ I too  could  now  say  to  myself  : Be  no  longer  a Chaos,  but 
a World,  or  even  Worldkin.  Produce  ! Produce  ! Were  it 
but  the  pitifullest  infinitesimal  fraction  of  a Product,  produce 
it,  in  God’s  name  ! ’Tis  the  utmost  thou  hast  in  thee  : out 
with  it,  then.  Up,  up  ! Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do, 
do  it  with  thy  whole  might.  Work  while  it  is  called  Today ; 
for  the  Night  cometh,  wherein  no  man  can  work.’ 


CHAPTER  X 
PAUSE 

Conversion  ; a spiritual  attainment  peculiar  to  the  modern  Era.  Teufels- 
drockh  accepts  Authorship  as  his  divine  calling.  The  scope  of  the  command 
Thou  shalt  not  steal. — Editor  begins  to  suspect  the  authenticity  of  the  Bio- 
graphical documents ; and  abandons  them  for  the  great  Clothes  volume. 
Result  of  the  preceding  ten  Chapters : Insight  into  the  character  of  Teu- 
felsdrockh  : His  fundamental  beliefs,  and  how  he  was  forced  to  seek  and 
find  them. 

Thus  have  we,  as  closely  and  perhaps  satisfactorily  as,  in  such 
circumstances,  might  be,  followed  Teufelsdrockh  through  the 
various  successive  states  and  stages  of  Growth,  Entanglement, 


158 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

Unbelief,  and  almost  Reprobation,  into  a certain  clearer  state 
of  what  he  himself  seems  to  consider  as  Conversion.  4 Blame 
not  the  word,’  says  he  ; 4 rejoice  rather  that  such  a word, 
signifying  such  a thing,  has  come  to  light  in  our  modern  Era, 
though  hidden  from  the  wisest  Ancients.  The  Old  World 
knew  nothing  of  Conversion ; instead  of  an  Ecce  Homo,  they 
had  only  some  Choice  of  Hercules.  It  was  a new-attained 
progress  in  the  Moral  Development  of  man  : hereby  has  the 
Highest  come  home  to  the  bosoms  of  the  most  Limited  ; what 
to  Plato  was  but  a hallucination,  and  to  Socrates  a chimera,  is 
now  clear  and  certain  to  your  Zinzendorfs,  your  Wesleys,  and 
the  poorest  of  their  Pietists  and  Methodists.’ 

It  is  here,  then,  that  the  spiritual  majority  of  Teufelsdrockh 
commences  : we  are  henceforth  to  see  him  4 work  in  well-doing,’ 
with  the  spirit  and  clear  aims  of  a Man.  He  has  discovered 
that  the  Ideal  Workshop  he  so  panted  for  is  even  this  same 
Actual  ill-furnished  Workshop  he  has  so  long  been  stumbling 
in.  Pie  can  say  to  himself : 4 Tools  ? Thou  hast  no  Tools  ? 
Why,  there  is  not  a Man,  or  a Thing,  now  alive  but  has  tools. 
The  basest  of  created  animalcules,  the  Spider  itself,  has  a 
spinning-jenny,  and  warping-mill,  and  power-loom  within  its 
head  : the  stupidest  of  Oysters  has  a Papin’s-Digester,  with 
stone-and-lime  house  to  hold  it  in : every  being  that  can  live 
can  do  something  : this  let  him  do. — Tools  ? Hast  thou  not 
a Brain,  furnished,  furnishable  with  some  glimmerings  of 
Light ; and  three  fingers  to  hold  a Pen  withal  ? Never  since 
Aaron’s  rod  went  out  of  practice,  or  even  before  it,  was  there 
such  a wonder-working  Tool : greater  than  all  recorded 
miracles  have  been  performed  by  Pens.  For  strangely  in  this 
so  solid-seeming  World,  which  nevertheless  is  in  continual 
restless  flux,  it  is  appointed  that  Sound,  to  appearance  the 
most  fleeting,  should  be  the  most  continuing  of  all  things. 
The  Woed  is  well  said  to  be  omnipotent  in  this  world ; man, 
thereby  divine,  can  create  as  by  a Fiat.  Awake,  arise ! 
Speak  forth  what  is  in  thee ; what  God  has  given  thee,  what 
the  Devil  shall  not  take  away.  Higher  task  than  that  of 


159 


CHAP,  x.]  PAUSE 

Priesthood  was  allotted  to  no  man  : wert  thou  but  the 
meanest  in  that  sacred  Hierarchy,  is  it  not  honour  enough 
therein  to  spend  and  be  spent  ? 

4 By  this  Art,  which  whoso  will  may  sacrilegiously  degrade 
into  a handicraft,’  adds  Teufelsdrockh,  4 have  I thenceforth 
abidden.  Writings  of  mine,  not  indeed  known  as  mine  (for 
what  am  IP),  have  fallen,  perhaps  not  altogether  void,  into 
the  mighty  seed-field  of  Opinion ; fruits  of  my  unseen  sowing 
gratifyingly  meet  me  here  and  there.  I thank  the  Heavens 
that  I have  now  found  my  Calling ; wherein,  with  or  without 
perceptible  result,  I am  minded  diligently  to  persevere. 

4 Nay  how  knowest  thou,’  cries  he,  ‘ but  this  and  the  other 
pregnant  Device,  now  grown  to  be  a world-renowned  far- 
working  Institution ; like  a grain  of  right  mustard-seed  once 
cast  into  the  right  soil,  and  now  stretching- out  strong  boughs 
to  the  four  winds,  for  the  birds  of  the  air  to  lodge  in, — may 
have  been  properly  my  doing  P Some  one’s  doing,  it  without 
doubt  was ; from  some  Idea,  in  some  single  Head,  it  did  first 
of  all  take  beginning : why  not  from  some  Idea  in  mine  ? ’ 
Does  Teufelsdrockh  here  glance  at  that  4 Society  for  the  Con- 
servation of  Property  ( Eigenthums-conservirende  Gesellschqft ),’ 
of  which  so  many  ambiguous  notices  glide  spectre-like  through 
these  inexpressible  Paper-bags  ? 4 An  Institution,’  hints  he, 

4 not  unsuitable  to  the  wants  of  the  time ; as  indeed  such 
sudden  extension  proves  : for  already  can  the  Society  number, 
among  its  office-bearers  or  corresponding  members,  the  highest 
Names,  if  not  the  highest  Persons,  in  Germany,  England, 
France ; and  contributions,  both  of  money  and  of  meditation, 
pour  in  from  all  quarters  ; to,  if  possible,  enlist  the  remaining 
Integrity  of  the  world,  and,  defensively  and  with  forethought, 
marshal  it  round  this  Palladium.’  Does  Teufelsdrockh  mean, 
then,  to  give  himself  out  as  the  originator  of  that  so  notable 
Eigenthums-conservirende  (4  Owndom-conserving  ’)  Gesellschqft ; 
and  if  so,  what,  in  the  Devil’s  name,  is  it  ? He  again  hints  : 
4 At  a time  when  the  divine  Commandment,  Thou  shalt  not 
steal,  wherein  truly,  if  well  understood,  is  comprised  the  whole 


160 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

Hebrew  Decalogue,  with  Solon’s  and  Lycurgus’s  Constitutions, 
Justinian’s  Pandects,  the  Code  Napoleon,  and  all  Codes, 
Catechisms,  Divinities,  Moralities  whatsoever,  that  man  has 
hitherto  devised  (and  enforced  with  Altar-fire  and  Gallows- 
ropes)  for  his  social  guidance  : at  a time,  I say,  when  this 
divine  Commandment  has  all-but  faded  away  from  the  general 
remembrance  ; and,  with  little  disguise,  a new  opposite  Com- 
mandment, Thou  shalt  steal,  is  everywhere  promulgated, — 
it  perhaps  behoved,  in  this  universal  dotage  and  deliration, 
the  sound  portion  of  mankind  to  bestir  themselves  and  rally. 
When  the  widest  and  wildest  violations  of  that  divine  right 
of  Property,  the  only  divine  right  now  extant  or  conceivable, 
are  sanctioned  and  recommended  by  a vicious  Press,  and  the 
world  has  lived  to  hear  it  asserted  that  we  have  no  Property 
in  our  very  Bodies,  hut  only  an  accidental  Possession  and  Life- 
rent,  what  is  the  issue  to  be  looked  for  ? Hangmen  and 
Catchpoles  may,  by  their  noose-gins  and  baited  fall-traps, 
keep  down  the  smaller  sort  of  vermin ; but  what,  except  per- 
haps some  such  Universal  Association,  can  protect  us  against 
whole  meat-devouring  and  man-devouring  hosts  of  Boa-con- 
strictors ? If,  therefore,  the  more  sequestered  Thinker  have 
wondered,  in  his  privacy,  from  what  hand  that  perhaps  not 
ill- written  Program  in  the  Public  Journals,  with  its  high 
Prize-Questions  and  so  liberal  Prizes,  could  have  proceeded, — 
let  him  now  cease  such  wonder ; and,  with  undivided  faculty, 
betake  himself  to  the  Concurrenz  (Competition).’ 

We  ask  : Has  this  same  4 perhaps  not  ill-written  Program ,’ 
or  any  other  authentic  Transaction  of  that  Property-conserving 
Society,  fallen  under  the  eye  of  the  British  Reader,  in  any 
Journal  foreign  or  domestic  ? If  so,  what  are  those  Prize- 
Questions  ; what  are  the  terms  of  Competition,  and  when  and 
where  ? No  printed  Newspaper-leaf,  no  farther  light  of  any 
soi’t,  to  be  met  with  in  these  Paper-bags  ! Or  is  the  whole 
business  one  other  of  those  whimsicalities  and  perverse  inex- 
plicabilities, whereby  Herr  Teufelsdrockh,  meaning  much  or 
nothing,  is  pleased  so  often  to  play  fast-and-loose  with  us  ? 


CHAP,  x.]  PAUSE  161 

Here,  indeed,  at  length,  must  the  Editor  give  utterance  to 
a painful  suspicion,  which,  through  late  Chapters,  has  begun  to 
haunt  him;  paralysing  any  little  enthusiasm  that  might  still 
have  rendered  his  thorny  Biographical  task  a labour  of  love. 
It  is  a suspicion  grounded  perhaps  on  trifles,  yet  confirmed 
almost  into  certainty  by  the  more  and  more  discernible  humor- 
istico-satirical  tendency  of  Teufelsdrockh,  in  whom  under- 
ground humours  and  intricate  sardonic  rogueries,  wheel  within 
wheel,  defy  all  reckoning  : a suspicion,  in  one  word,  that 
these  Autobiographical  Documents  are  partly  a mystification  ! 
What  if  many  a so-called  Fact  were  little  better  than  a Fiction  ; 
if  here  we  had  no  direct  Camera-obscura  Picture  of  the 
Professor’s  History ; but  only  some  more  or  less  fantastic 
Adumbration,  symbolically,  perhaps  significantly  enough, 
shadowing-forth  the  same  ! Our  theory  begins  to  be  that,  in 
receiving  as  literally  authentic  what  was  but  hieroglyphically 
so,  Hofrath  Heuschrecke,  whom  in  that  case  we  scruple  not 
to  name  Hofrath  Nose-of-Wax,  was  made  a fool  of,  and  set 
adrift  to  make  fools  of  others.  Could  it  be  expected,  indeed, 
that  a man  so  known  for  impenetrable  reticence  as  Teufels- 
drockh, would  all  at  once  frankly  unlock  his  private  citadel  to 
an  English  Editor  and  a German  Hofrath  ; and  not  rather 
deceptively  inlock  both  Editor  and  Hofrath  in  the  labyrinthic 
tortuosities  and  covered-ways  of  said  citadel  (having  enticed 
them  thither),  to  see,  in  his  half-devilish  way,  how  the  fools 
would  look  ? 

Of  one  fool,  however,  the  Herr  Professor  will  perhaps  find 
himself  short.  On  a small  slip,  formerly  thrown  aside  as 
blank,  the  ink  being  all-but  invisible,  we  lately  notice,  and 
with  effort  decipher,  the  following  : ‘ What  are  your 

historical  Facts  ; still  more  your  biographical  ? Wilt  thou 
know  a Man,  above  all  a Mankind,  by  stringing-together 
beadrolls  of  what  thou  namest  Facts  ? The  Man  is  the  spirit 
he  worked  in  ; not  what  he  did,  but  what  he  became.  Facts 
are  engraved  Hierograms,  for  which  the  fewest  have  the  key. 
And  then  how  your  Block-head  ( Dummltopf)  studies  not  their 

L 


162 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

Meaning ; but  simply  whether  they  are  well  or  ill  cut,  what  he 
calls  Moral  or  Immoral ! Still  worse  is  it  with  your  Bungler 
( Pfuscher ) : such  I have  seen  reading  some  Rousseau,  with 
pretences  of  interpretation  ; and  mistaking  the  ill-cut  Serpent- 
of-Eternity  for  a common  poisonous  reptile.’  Was  the  Pro- 
fessor apprehensive  lest  an  Editor,  selected  as  the  present 
boasts  himself,  might  mistake  the  Teufelsdrockh  Serpent-of- 
Eternity  in  like  manner  ? For  which  reason  it  was  to  be 
altered,  not  without  underhand  satire,  into  a plainer  Symbol  ? 
Or  is  this  merely  one  of  his  half-sophisms,  half-truisms,  which 
if  he  can  but  set  on  the  back  of  a Figure,  he  cares  not 
whither  it  gallop  ? We  say  not  with  certainty  ; and  indeed, 
so  strange  is  the  Professor,  can  never  say.  If  our  suspicion 
be  wholly  unfounded,  let  his  own  questionable  ways,  not  our 
necessary  circumspectness,  bear  the  blame. 

But  be  this  as  it  will,  the  somewhat  exasperated  and  indeed 
exhausted  Editor  determines  here  to  shut  these  Paper-bags 
for  the  present.  Let  it  suffice  that  we  know  of  Teufelsdrockh, 
so  far,  if  4 not  what  he  did,  yet  what  he  became  ’ : the  rather, 
as  his  character  has  now  taken  its  ultimate  bent,  and  no  new 
revolution,  of  importance,  is  to  be  looked  for.  The  im- 
prisoned Chrysalis  is  now  a winged  Psyche  : and  such,  where- 
soever be  its  flight,  it  will  continue.  To  trace  by  what 
complex  gyrations  (flights  or  involuntary  waftings)  through 
the  mere  external  Life-element,  Teufelsdrockh  reaches  his 
University  Professorship,  and  the  Psyche  clothes  herself  in 
civic  Titles,  without  altering  her  now  fixed  nature, — would  be 
comparatively  an  unproductive  task,  were  we  even  unsuspicious 
of  its  being,  for  us  at  least,  a false  and  impossible  one.  His 
outward  Biography,  therefore,  which,  at  the  Blumine  Lover’s- 
Leap,  we  saw  churned  utterly  into  spray- vapour,  may  hover  in 
that  condition,  for  aught  that  concerns  us  here.  Enough 
that  by  survey  of  certain  4 pools  and  plashes,’  we  have  ascer- 
tained its  general  direction ; do  we  not  already  know  that, 
by  one  way  and  other,  it  has  long  since  rained-down  again 
into  a stream ; and  even  now,  at  Weissnichtwo,  flows  deep 


PAUSE 


163 


CHAP.  X.] 

and  still,  fraught  with  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes,  and  visible 
to  whoso  will  east  eye  thereon  ? Over  much  invaluable 
matter,  that  lies  scattered,  like  jewels  among  quarry-rubbish, 
in  those  Paper-catacombs,  we  may  have  occasion  to  glance 
back,  and  somewhat  will  demand  insertion  at  the  right  place  : 
meanwhile  be  our  tiresome  diggings  therein  suspended. 

If  now,  before  reopening  the  great  Clothes- Volume,  we  ask 
what  our  degree  of  progress,  during  these  Ten  Chapters,  has 
been,  towards  right  understanding  of  the  Clothes-Philosophy , 
let  not  our  discouragement  become  total.  To  speak  in  that 
old  figure  of  the  Hell-gate  Bridge  over  Chaos,  a few  flying 
pontoons  have  perhaps  been  added,  though  as  yet  they  drift 
straggling  on  the  Flood ; how  far  they  will  reach,  when  once 
the  chains  are  straightened  and  fastened,  can,  at  present,  only 
be  matter  of  conjecture. 

So  much  we  already  calculate : Through  many  a little 
loophole,  we  have  had  glimpses  into  the  internal  world  of 
Teufelsdrockh ; his  strange  mystic,  almost  magic  Diagram  of 
the  Universe,  and  how  it  was  gradually  drawn,  is  not  hence- 
forth altogether  dark  to  us.  Those  mysterious  ideas  on  Time, 
which  merit  consideration,  and  are  not  wholly  unintelligible 
with  such,  may  by  and  by  prove  significant.  Still  more  may 
his  somewhat  peculiar  view  of  Nature,  the  decisive  Oneness 
he  ascribes  to  Nature.  How  all  Nature  and  Life  are  but  one 
Garment,  a 4 Living  Garment,’  woven  and  ever  aweaving  in 
the  4 Loom  of  Time 1 ; is  not  here,  indeed,  the  outline  of  a 
whole  Clothes-Philosophy ; at  least  the  arena  it  is  to  work  in  ? 
Remark,  too,  that  the  Character  of  the  Man,  nowise  without 
meaning  in  such  a matter,  becomes  less  enigmatic : amid  so 
much  tumultuous  obscurity,  almost  like  diluted  madness,  do 
not  a certain  indomitable  Defiance  and  yet  a boundless  Rever- 
ence seem  to  loom  forth,  as  the  two  mountain-summits,  on 
whose  rock-strata  all  the  rest  were  based  and  built  ? 

Nay  further,  may  we  not  say  that  Teufelsdrockh’s  Bio- 
graphy, allowing  it  even,  as  suspected,  only  a hieroglyphical 
truth,  exhibits  a man,  as  it  were  preappointed  for  Clothes- 


164 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  n. 

Philosophy  ? To  look  through  the  Shows  of  things  into 
Things  themselves  he  is  led  and  compelled.  The  4 Passivity  ’ 
given  him  by  birth  is  fostered  by  all  turns  of  his  fortune. 
Everywhere  cast  out,  like  oil  out  of  water,  from  mingling  in 
any  Employment,  in  any  public  Communion,  he  has  no 
portion  but  Solitude,  and  a life  of  Meditation.  The  whole 
energy  of  his  existence  is  directed,  through  long  years,  on  one 
task  : that  of  enduring  pain,  if  he  cannot  cure  it.  Thus 
everywhere  do  the  Shows  of  things  oppress  him,  withstand 
him,  threaten  him  with  fearfullest  destruction  : only  by 
victoriously  penetrating  into  Things  themselves  can  he  find 
peace  and  a stronghold.  But  is  not  this  same  looking- 
through  the  Shows,  or  Vestures,  into  the  Things,  even  the 
first  preliminary  to  a Philosophy  of  Clothes  ? Do  we  not,  in 
all  this,  discern  some  beckonings  towards  the  true  higher 
purport  of  such  a Philosophy ; and  what  shape  it  must 
assume  with  such  a man,  in  such  an  era? 

Perhaps  in  entering  on  Book  Third,  the  courteous  Reader 
is  not  utterly  without  guess  whither  he  is  bound : nor,  let  us 
hope,  for  all  the  fantastic  Dream-Grottoes  through  which,  as 
is  our  lot  with  Teufelsdrockh,  he  must  wander,  will  there  be 
wanting  between  whiles  some  twinkling  of  a steady  Polar  Star. 


BOOK  THIRD 


CHAPTER  I 

INCIDENT  IN  MODERN  HISTORY 

Story  of  George  Fox  tlie  Quaker  ; and  his  perennial  suit  of  Leather.  A man 

God-possessed,  witnessing  for  spiritual  freedom  and  manhood. 

As  a wonder-loving  and  wonder-seeking  man,  Teufelsdrockh, 
from  an  early  part  of  this  Clothes-Volume,  has  more  and  more 
exhibited  himself.  Striking  it  was,  amid  all  his  perverse  cloudi- 
ness, with  what  force  of  vision  and  of  heart  he  pierced  into  the 
mystery  of  the  World ; recognising  in  the  highest  sensible  pheno- 
mena, so  far  as  Sense  went,  only  fresh  or  faded  Raiment ; yet 
ever,  under  this,  a celestial  Essence  thereby  rendered  visible : 
and  while,  on  the  one  hand,  he  trod  the  old  rags  of  Matter, 
with  their  tinsels,  into  the  mire,  he  on  the  other  everywhere 
exalted  Spirit  above  all  earthly  principalities  and  powers,  and 
worshipped  it,  though  under  the  meanest  shapes,  with  a true 
Platonic  mysticism.  What  the  man  ultimately  purposed  by 
thus  casting  his  Greek-fire  into  the  general  Wardrobe  of  the 
Universe  ; what  such,  more  or  less  complete,  rending  and  burn- 
ing of  Garments  throughout  the  whole  compass  of  Civilised 
Life  and  Speculation,  should  lead  to ; the  rather  as  he  was  no 
Adamite,  in  any  sense,  and  could  not,  like  Rousseau,  recom- 
mend either  bodily  or  intellectual  Nudity,  and  a return  to  the 
savage  state  : all  this  our  readers  are  now  bent  to  discover ; 
this  is,  in  fact,  properly  the  gist  and  purport  of  Professor 
Teufelsdrockh’s  Philosophy  of  Clothes. 

Be  it  remembered,  however,  that  such  purport  is  here  not 


166 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  ill. 

so  much  evolved,  as  detected  to  lie  ready  for  evolving.  We 
are  to  guide  our  British  Friends  into  the  new  Gold-country, 
and  show  them  the  mines  ; nowise  to  dig-out  and  exhaust  its 
wealth,  which  indeed  remains  for  all  time  inexhaustible.  Once 
there,  let  each  dig  for  his  own  behoof,  and  enrich  himself. 

Neither,  in  so  capricious  inexpressible  a Work  as  this  of 
the  Professor’s,  can  our  course  now  more  than  formerly  be 
straightforward,  step  by  step,  but  at  best  leap  by  leap.  Signi- 
ficant Indications  stand-out  here  and  there  ; which  for  the 
critical  eye,  that  looks  both  widely  and  narrowly,  shape  them- 
selves into  some  ground-scheme  of  a Whole  : to  select  these 
with  judgment,  so  that  a leap  from  one  to  the  other  be  possible, 
and  (in  our  old  figure)  by  chaining  them  together,  a passable 
Bridge  be  effected  : this,  as  heretofore,  continues  our  only 
method.  Among  such  light-spots,  the  following,  floating  in 
much  wild  matter  about  Perfectibility , has  seemed  worth 
clutching  at  : 

‘ Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  incident  in  Modern  History,’ 
says  Teufelsdrockh,  4 is  not  the  Diet  of  Worms,  still  less  the 
Battle  of  Austerlitz,  Waterloo,  Peterloo,  or  any  other  Battle ; 
but  an  incident  passed  carelessly  over  by  most  Historians, 
and  treated  with  some  degree  of  ridicule  by  others  : namely, 
Geoi’ge  Fox’s  making  to  himself  a suit  of  Leather.  This  man, 
the  first  of  the  Quakers,  and  by  trade  a Shoemaker,  was  one 
of  those,  to  whom,  under  ruder  or  purer  form,  the  Divine 
Idea  of  the  Universe  is  pleased  to  manifest  itself ; and,  across 
all  the  hulls  of  Ignorance  and  earthly  Degradation,  shine 
through,  in  unspeakable  Awfulness,  unspeakable  Beauty,  on 
their  souls  : who  therefore  are  rightly  accounted  Prophets, 
God-possessed  ; or  even  Gods,  as  in  some  periods  it  has 
chanced.  Sitting  in  his  stall  ; working  on  tanned  hides, 
amid  pincers,  paste-horns,  rosin,  swine-bristles,  and  a name- 
less flood  of  rubbish,  this  youth  had,  nevertheless,  a Living 
Spirit  belonging  to  him  ; also  an  antique  Inspired  Volume, 
through  which,  as  through  a window,  it  could  look  upwards, 
and  discern  its  celestial  Home.  The  task  of  a daily  pair  of 


CHAP,  i.]  INCIDENT  IN  MODERN  HISTORY  16? 

shoes,  coupled  even  with  some  prospect  of  victuals,  and  an 
honourable  Mastership  in  Cordwainery,  and  perhaps  the  post 
of  Thirdborough  in  his  hundred,  as  the  crown  of  long  faithful 
sewing, — was  nowise  satisfaction  enough  to  such  a mind  : but 
ever  amid  the  boring  and  hammering  came  tones  from  that 
far  country,  came  Splendours  and  Terrors ; for  this  poor 
Cordwainer,  as  we  said,  was  a Man  ; and  the  Temple  of  Im- 
mensity, wherein  as  Man  he  had  been  sent  to  minister,  was 
full  of  holy  mystery  to  him. 

4 The  Clergy  of  the  neighbourhood,  the  ordained  Watchers 
and  Interpreters  of  that  same  holy  mystery,  listened  with  un- 
affected tedium  to  his  consultations,  and  advised  him,  as  the 
solution  of  such  doubts,  to  “ drink  beer  and  dance  with  the 
girls.”  Blind  leaders  of  the  blind  ! For  what  end  were  their 
tithes  levied  and  eaten  ; for  what  were  their  shovel-hats 
scooped-out,  and  their  surplices  and  cassock-aprons  girt-on  ; 
and  such  a church-repairing,  and  chaffering,  and  organing, 
and  other  racketing,  held  over  that  spot  of  God’s  Earth, — if 
Man  were  but  a Patent  Digester,  and  the  Belly  with  its  ad- 
juncts the  grand  Reality  ? Fox  turned  from  them,  with  tears 
and  a sacred  scorn,  back  to  his  Leather-parings  and  his  Bible. 
Mountains  of  encumbrance,  higher  than  iEtna,  had  been 
heaped  over  that  Spirit  : but  it  was  a Spirit,  and  would  not 
lie  buried  there.  Through  long  days  and  nights  of  silent 
agony,  it  struggled  and  wrestled,  with  a man’s  force,  to  be  free  : 
how  its  prison-mountains  heaved  and  swayed  tumultuously, 
as  the  giant  spirit  shook  them  to  this  hand  and  that,  and 
emerged  into  the  light  of  Heaven  ! That  Leicester  shoe-shop, 
had  men  known  it,  was  a holier  place  than  any  Vatican  or 
Loretto-shrine. — “ So  bandaged,  and  hampered,  and  hemmed 
in,”  groaned  he,  “ with  thousand  requisitions,  obligations, 
straps,  tatters,  and  tagrags,  I can  neither  see  nor  move  : 
not  my  own  am  I,  but  the  World’s ; and  Time  flies  fast,  and 
Heaven  is  high,  and  Hell  is  deep  : Man  ! bethink  thee,  if 
thou  hast  power  of  Thought  ! Why  not ; what  binds  me 
here  ? Want,  want  ! — Ha,  of  what  P Will  all  the  shoe- 


168 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  hi. 

wages  under  the  Moon  ferry  me  across  into  that  far  Land 
of  Light  ? Only  Meditation  can,  and  devout  Prayer  to  God. 
I will  to  the  woods  : the  hollow  of  a tree  will  lodge  me,  wild- 
berries  feed  me  ; and  for  Clothes,  cannot  I stitch  myself  one 
perennial  suit  of  Leather  ! ” 

‘ Historical  Oil-painting,’  continues  Teufelsdrockh,  { is  one 
of  the  Arts  I never  practised ; therefore  shall  I not  decide 
whether  this  subject  were  easy  of  execution  on  the  canvas. 
Yet  often  has  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  such  first  outflashing 
of  man’s  Freewill,  to  lighten,  more  and  more  into  Day,  the 
Chaotic  Night  that  threatened  to  engulf  him  in  its  hindrances 
and  its  horrors,  were  properly  the  only  grandeur  there  is  in 
History.  Let  some  living  Angelo  or  Rosa,  with  seeing  eye 
and  understanding  heart,  picture  George  Fox  on  that  morning, 
when  he  spreads-out  his  cutting-board  for  the  last  time,  and 
cuts  cowhides  by  unwonted  patterns,  and  stitches  them  to- 
gether into  one  continuous  all-including  Case,  the  farewell 
service  of  his  awl  ! Stitch  away,  thou  noble  Fox  : every 
prick  of  that  little  instrument  is  pricking  into  the  heart  of 
Slavery,  and  World- worship,  and  the  Mammon-god.  Thy 
elbows  jerk,  as  in  strong  swimmer-strokes,  and  every  stroke  is 
bearing  thee  across  the  Prison-ditch,  within  which  Vanity 
holds  her  Workhouse  and  Ragfair,  into  lands  of  true  Liberty ; 
were  the  work  done,  there  is  in  broad  Europe  one  Free  Man, 
and  thou  art  he  ! 

‘ Thus  from  the  lowest  depth  there  is  a path  to  the  loftiest 
height ; and  for  the  Poor  also  a Gospel  has  been  published. 
Surely  if,  as  D’Alembert  asserts,  my  illustrious  namesake,  Dio- 
genes, was  the  greatest  man  of  Antiquity,  only  that  he  wanted 
Decency,  then  by  stronger  reason  is  George  Fox  the  greatest 
of  the  Moderns,  and  greater  than  Diogenes  himself : for  he 
too  stands  on  the  adamantine  basis  of  his  Manhood,  casting 
aside  all  props  and  shoars ; yet  not,  in  half-savage  Pride, 
undervaluing  the  Earth  ; valuing  it  rather,  as  a place  to  yield 
him  warmth  and  food,  he  looks  Heavenward  from  his  Earth, 
and  dwells  in  an  element  of  Mercy  and  Worship,  with  a still 


chap,  i.]  INCIDENT  IN  MODERN  HISTORY  169 

Strength,  such  as  the  Cynic’s  Tub  did  nowise  witness.  Great, 
truly,  was  that  Tub  ; a temple  from  which  man’s  dignity  and 
divinity  was  scornfully  preached  abroad  : but  greater  is  the 
Leather  Hull,  for  the  same  sermon  was  preached  there,  and 
not  in  Scorn  but  in  Love.’ 

George  Fox’s  ‘ perennial  suit,’  with  all  that  it  held,  has  been 
worn  quite  into  ashes  for  nigh  two  centuries  : why,  in  a dis- 
cussion on  the  Perfectibility  of  Society,  reproduce  it  now  P 
Not  out  of  blind  sectarian  partisanship  : Teufelsdrockh  him- 
self is  no  Quaker ; with  all  his  pacific  tendencies,  did  not  we 
see  him,  in  that  scene  at  the  North  Cape,  with  the  Archangel 
Smuggler,  exhibit  fire-arms  ? 

For  us,  aware  of  his  deep  Sansculottism,  there  is  more 
meant  in  this  passage  that  meets  the  ear.  At  the  same  time, 
who  can  avoid  smiling  at  the  earnestness  and  Boeotian  simpli- 
city (if  indeed  there  be  not  an  underhand  satire  in  it),  with 
which  that  ‘ Incident  ’ is  here  brought  forward  ; and,  in  the 
Professor’s  ambiguous  way,  as  clearly  perhaps  as  he  durst  in 
Weissnichtwo,  recommended  to  imitation  ! Does  Teufelsdrockh 
anticipate  that,  in  this  age  of  refinement,  any  considerable 
class  of  the  community,  by  wray  of  testifying  against  the 
‘ Mammon-god,’  and  escaping  from  what  he  calls  ‘ Vanity’s 
Workhouse  and  Ragfair,’  where  doubtless  some  of  them  are 
toiled  and  whipped  and  hood- winked  sufficiently, — will  sheathe 
themselves  in  close-fitting  cases  of  Leather  ? The  idea  is 
ridiculous  in  the  extreme.  Will  Majesty  lay  aside  its  robes 
of  state,  and  Beauty  its  frills  and  train-gowns,  for  a second- 
skin  of  tanned  hide  ? By  which  change  Huddersfield  and 
Manchester,  and  Coventry  and  Paisley,  and  the  Fancy-Bazaar, 
were  reduced  to  hungry  solitudes  ; and  only  Day  and  Martin 
could  profit.  For  neither  would  Teufelsdrockh’s  mad  day- 
dream, here  as  we  persume  covertly  intended,  of  levelling 
Society  ( levelling  it  indeed  with  a vengeance,  into  one  huge 
drowned  marsh !),  and  so  attaining  the  political  effects  of 
Nudity  without  its  frigorific  or  other  consequences,  — be 


170 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  ill. 

thereby  realised.  Would  not  the  rich  man  purchase  a water- 
proof suit  of  Russia  Leather ; and  the  high-born  Belle  step- 
forth  in  red  or  azure  morocco,  lined  with  shamoy  : the  black 
cowhide  being  left  to  the  Drudges  and  Gibeonites  of  the 
world ; and  so  all  the  old  Distinctions  be  reestablished  ? 

Or  has  the  Professor  his  own  deeper  intention ; and  laughs 
in  his  sleeve  at  our  strictures  and  glosses,  which  indeed  are 
but  a part  thereof? 


CHAPTER  II 
CHURCH-CLOTHES 

Church-Clothes  defined ; the  Forms  under  which  the  Religious  Principle  is 
temporarily  embodied.  Outward  Religion  originates  by  Society : Society 
becomes  possible  by  Religion.  The  condition  of  Church-Clothes  in  our 
time. 

Not  less  questionable  is  his  Chapter  on  Church-Clothes, 
which  has  the  farther  distinction  of  being  the  shortest  in  the 
Volume.  We  here  translate  it  entire  : 

‘ By  Church-Clothes,  it  need  not  be  premised  that  I mean 
infinitely  more  than  Cassocks  and  Surplices ; and  do  not  at 
all  mean  the  mere  haberdasher  Sunday  Clothes  that  men  go 
to  Church  in.  Par  from  it ! Church-Clothes,  are,  in  our 
vocabulary,  the  Forms,  the  Vestures,  under  which  men  have  at 
various  periods  embodied  and  represented  for  themselves  the 
Religious  Principle ; that  is  to  say,  invested  the  Divine  Idea 
of  the  World  with  a sensible  and  practically  active  Body,  so 
that  it  might  dwell  among  them  as  a living  and  life-giving 
Word. 

‘ These  are  unspeakably  the  most  important  of  all  the  ves- 
tures and  garnitures  of  Human  Existence.  They  are  first 
spun  and  woven,  I may  say,  by  that  wonder  of  wonders, 
Society  ; for  it  is  still  only  when  “ two  or  three  are  gathered 
together,'”  that  Religion,  spiritually  existent,  and  indeed  inde- 


171 


CHAP.il]  CHURCH-CLOTHES 

structible,  however  latent,  in  each,  first  outwardly  manifests 
itself  (as  with  “ cloven  tongues  of  fire  ”),  and  seeks  to  be 
embodied  in  a visible  Communion  and  Church  Militant. 
Mystical,  more  than  magical,  is  that  Communing  of  Soul 
with  Soul,  both  looking  heavenward  : here  properly  Soul  first 
speaks  with  Soul ; for  only  in  looking  heavenward,  take  it  in 
what  sense  you  may,  not  in  looking  earthward,  does  what  we 
can  call  Union,  mutual  Love,  Society,  begin  to  be  possible. 
How  true  is  that  of  Novalis  : “ It  is  certain,  my  Belief  gains 
quite  infinitely  the  moment  I can  convince  another  mind 
thereof”  ! Gaze  thou  in  the  face  of  thy  Brother,  in  those 
eyes  where  plays  the  lambent  fire  of  Kindness,  or  in  those 
where  rages  the  lurid  conflagration  of  Anger ; feel  how  thy 
own  so  quiet  Soul  is  straightway  involuntarily  kindled  with 
the  like,  and  ye  blaze  and  reverberate  on  each  other,  till  it  is 
all  one  limitless  confluent  flame  (of  embracing  Love,  or  of 
deadly-grappling  Hate) ; and  then  say  what  miraculous  virtue 
goes  out  of  man  into  man.  But  if  so,  through  all  the  thick- 
plied  hulls  of  our  Earthly  Life ; how  much  more  when  it  is 
of  the  Divine  Life  we  speak,  and  inmost  Me  is,  as  it  were, 
brought  into  contact  with  inmost  Me  ! 

‘ Thus  was  it  that  I said,  the  Church-Clothes  are  first  spun 
and  woven  by  Society;  outward  Religion  originates  by  Society, 
Society  becomes  possible  by  Religion.  Nay,  perhaps,  every 
conceivable  Society,  past  and  present,  may  well  be  figured  as 
properly  and  wholly  a Church,  in  one  or  other  of  these  three 
predicaments  : an  audibly  preaching  and  prophesying  Church, 
which  is  the  best ; second,  a Church  that  struggles  to  preach 
and  prophesy,  but  cannot  as  yet,  till  its  Pentecost  come ; and 
third  and  worst,  a Church  gone  dumb  with  old  age,  or  which 
only  mumbles  delirium  prior  to  dissolution.  Whoso  fancies 
that  by  Church  is  here  meant  Chapterhouses  and  Cathedrals, 
or  by  preaching  and  prophesying,  mere  speech  and  chanting, 
let  him,’  says  the  oracular  Professor,  4 read  on,  light  of  heart 
( getrosten  Muthes). 

‘ But  with  regard  to  your  Church  proper,  and  the  Church- 


172 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  ill. 

Clothes  specially  recognised  as  Church-Clothes,  I remark,  fear- 
lessly enough,  that  without  such  Vestures  and  sacred  Tissues 
Society  has  not  existed,  and  will  not  exist.  For  if  Govern- 
ment is,  so  to  speak,  the  outward  Skin  of  the  Body  Politic, 
holding  the  whole  together  and  protecting  it ; and  all  your 
Craft-Guilds,  and  Associations  for  Industry,  of  hand  or  of 
head,  are  the  Fleshly  Clothes,  the  muscular  and  osseous 
Tissues  (lying  under  such  Skin),  whereby  Society  stands  and 
works  ; — then  is  Religion  the  inmost  Pericardial  and  Nervous 
Tissue,  which  ministers  Life  and  warm  Circulation  to  the 
Avhole.  Without  which  Pericardial  Tissue  the  Bones  and 
Muscles  (of  Industry)  were  inert,  or  animated  only  by  a 
Galvanic  vitality ; the  Skin  would  become  a shrivelled  pelt,  or 
fast-rotting  raw-hide ; and  Society  itself  a dead  carcass, — 
deserving  to  be  buried.  Men  were  no  longer  Social,  but 
Gregarious ; which  latter  state  also  could  not  continue,  but 
must  gradually  issue  in  universal  selfish  discord,  hatred, 
savage  isolation,  and  dispersion ; — whereby,  as  we  might 
continue  to  say,  the  very  dust  and  dead  body  of  Society  would 
have  evaporated  and  become  abolished.  Such,  and  so  all- 
important,  all-sustaining,  are  the  Church- Clothes  to  civilised 
or  even  to  rational  men. 

‘ Meanwhile,  in  our  era  of  the  World,  those  same  Church- 
Clothes  have  gone  sorrowfully  out-at-elbows  : nay,  far  worse, 
many  of  them  have  become  mere  hollow  Shapes,  or  Masks, 
under  which  no  living  Figure  or  Spirit  any  longer  dwells  ; but 
only  spiders  and  unclean  beetles,  in  horrid  accumulation,  drive 
their  trade ; and  the  mask  still  glares  on  you  with  its  glass- 
eyes,  in  ghastly  affectation  of  Life, — some  generation-and-half 
after  Religion  has  quite  withdrawn  from  it,  and  in  unnoticed 
nooks  is  weaving  for  herself  new  Vestures,  wherewith  to 
reappear,  and  bless  us,  or  our  sons  or  grandsons.  As  a Priest, 
or  Interpreter  of  the  Holy,  is  the  noblest  and  highest  of  all 
men,  so  is  a Sham-priest  ( Schein-priester ) the  falsest  and 
basest ; neither  is  it  doubtful  that  his  Canonicals,  were  they 
Popes’  Tiaras,  will  one  day  be  torn  from  him,  to  make 


SYMBOLS 


CHAP.  III.] 


173 


bandages  for  the  wounds  of  mankind ; or  even  to  burn  into 
tinder,  for  general  scientific  or  culinary  purposes. 

‘ All  which,  as  out  of  place  here,  falls  to  be  handled  in  my 
Second  Volume,  On  the  Palingenesia , or  Newbirth  of  Society ; 
which  volume,  as  treating  practically  of  the  Wear,  Destruc- 
tion, and  Retexture  of  Spiritual  Tissues,  or  Garments,  forms, 
properly  speaking,  the  Transcendental  or  ultimate  Portion  of 
this  my  work  on  Clothes,  and  is  already  in  a state  of  forward- 
ness.’ 

And  herewith,  no  farther  exposition,  note,  or  commentary 
being  added,  does  Teufelsdrockh,  and  must  his  Editor  now, 
terminate  the  singular  chapter  on  Church- Clothes  ! 


CHAPTER  III 
SYMBOLS 

The  benignant  efficacies  of  Silence  and  Secrecy.  Symbols ; revelations  of 
the  Infinite  in  the  Finite : Man  everywhere  encompassed  by  them ; 
lives  and  works  by  them.  Theory  of  Motive-millwrights,  a false  account 
of  human  nature.  Symbols  of  an  extrinsic  value ; as  Banners,  Standards : 

Of  intrinsic  value;  as  Works  of  Art,  Lives  and  Deaths  of  Heroic  men. 
Religious  Symbols ; Christianity.  Symbols  hallowed  by  Time ; but  finally 
defaced  and  desecrated.  Many  superannuated  Symbols  in  our  time, 
needing  removal. 

Probably  it  will  elucidate  the  drift  of  these  foregoing 
obscure  utterances,  if  we  here  insert  somewhat  of  our  Pro- 
fessor’s speculations  on  Symbols.  To  state  his  whole  doctrine, 
indeed,  were  beyond  our  compass : nowhere  is  he  more 
mysterious,  impalpable,  than  in  this  of  ‘ Fantasy  being  the 
organ  of  the  Godlike  ’ ; and  how  £ Man  thereby,  though  based, 
to  all  seeming,  on  the  small  Visible,  does  nevertheless  extend 
down  into  the  infinite  deeps  of  the  Invisible,  of  which 
Invisible,  indeed,  his  Life  is  properly  the  bodying  forth.’  Let 
us,  omitting  these  high  transcendental  aspects  of  the  matter, 
study  to  glean  (whether  from  the  Paper-bags  or  the  Printed 
Volume)  what  little  seems  logical  and  practical,  and  cunningly 


174 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  ill. 

arrange  it  into  such  degree  of  coherence  as  it  will  assume. 
By  way  of  proem,  take  the  following  not  injudicious  remarks  : 

‘The  benignant  efficacies  of  Concealment,’  cries  our  Pro- 
fessor, ‘ who  shall  speak  or  sing  ? Silence  and  Secrecy  ! 
Altars  might  still  be  raised  to  them  (were  this  an  altar- 
building time)  for  universal  worship.  Silence  is  the  element 
in  which  great  things  fashion  themselves  together ; that  at 
length  they  may  emerge,  full-formed  and  majestic,  into  the 
daylight  of  Life,  which  they  are  thenceforth  to  rule.  Not 
William  the  Silent  only,  but  all  the  considerable  men  I have 
known,  and  the  most  undiplomatic  and  unstrategic  of  these, 
forbore  to  babble  of  what  they  were  creating  and  projecting. 
Nay,  in  thy  own  mean  perplexities,  do  thou  thyself  but  hold 
thy  tongue  for  one  day  : on  the  morrow,  how  much  clearer 
are  thy  purposes  and  duties ; what  wreck  and  rubbish  have 
those  mute  workmen  within  thee  swept  away,  when  intrusive 
noises  were  shut  out ! Speech  is  too  often  not,  as  the  French- 
man defined  it,  the  art  of  concealing  Thought ; but  of  quite 
stifling  and  suspending  Thought,  so  that  there  is  none  to 
conceal.  Speech  too  is  great,  but  not  the  greatest.  As 
the  Swiss  Inscription  says : Sprechen  ist  silbern,  Schweigen 
ist  golden  (Speech  is  silvern,  Silence  is  golden) ; or  as  I 
might  rather  express  it  : Speech  is  of  Time,  Silence  is  of 
Eternity. 

‘ Bees  will  not  work  except  in  darkness ; Thought  will  not 
work  except  in  Silence : neither  will  Virtue  work  except  in 
Secrecy.  Let  not  thy  left  hand  know  what  thy  right  hand 
doeth ! Neither  shalt  thou  prate  even  to  thy  own  heart  of 
“ those  secrets  known  to  all.”  Is  not  Shame  ( Schaam ) the 
soil  of  all  Virtue,  of  all  good  manners  and  good  morals  ? 
Like  other  plants,  Virtue  will  not  grow  unless  its  root  be 
hidden,  buried  from  the  eye  of  the  sun.  Let  the  sun  shine 
on  it,  nay  do  but  look  at  it  privily  thyself,  the  root  withers, 
and  no  flowers  will  glad  thee.  O my  Friends,  when  we  view 
the  fair  clustering  flowers  that  overwreathe,  for  example,  the 
Marriage-bower,  and  encircle  man’s  life  with  the  fragrance  and 


SYMBOLS 


175 


CHAP.  III.] 

hues  of  Heaven,  what  hand  will  not  smite  the  foul  plunderer 
that  grubs  them  up  by  the  roots,  and  with  grinning,  grunting 
satisfaction,  shows  us  the  dung  they  flourish  in  ! Men  speak 
much  of  the  Printing-Press  with  its  Newspapers  : du  Himmel! 
what  are  these  to  Clothes  and  the  Tailor’s  Goose  ? ’ 

‘ Of  kin  to  the  so  incalculable  influences  of  Concealment, 
and  connected  with  still  greater  things,  is  the  wondrous  agency 
of  Symbols . In  a Symbol  there  is  concealment  and  yet  revela- 
tion : here  therefore,  by  Silence  and  by  Speech  acting  together, 
comes  a double  significance.  And  if  both  the  Speech  be  itself 
high,  and  the  Silence  fit  and  noble,  how  expressive  will  their 
union  be ! Thus  in  many  a painted  Device,  or  simple  Seal- 
emblem,  the  commonest  Truth  stands  out  to  us  proclaimed 
with  quite  new  emphasis. 

‘For  it  is  here  that  Fantasy  with  her  mystic  wonderland 
plays  into  the  small  prose  domain  of  Sense,  and  becomes  in- 
corporated therewith.  In  the  Symbol  proper,  what  we  can 
call  a Symbol,  there  is  ever,  more  or  less  distinctly  and  directly, 
some  embodiment  and  revelation  of  the  Infinite ; the  Infinite 
is  made  to  blend  itself  with  the  Finite,  to  stand  visible,  and 
as  it  were,  attainable  there.  By  Symbols,  accordingly,  is  man 
guided  and  commanded,  made  happy,  made  wretched.  He 
everywhere  finds  himself  encompassed  with  Symbols,  recog- 
nised as  such  or  not  recognised : the  Universe  is  but  one  vast 
Symbol  of  God ; nay  if  thou  wilt  have  it,  what  is  man  him- 
self but  a Symbol  of  God  ; is  not  all  that  he  does  symbolical ; 
a revelation  to  Sense  of  the  mystic  god-given  force  that  is  in 
him ; a “ Gospel  of  Freedom,”  which  he,  the  “ Messias  of 
Nature,”  preaches,  as  he  can,  by  act  and  word  P Not  a Hut 
he  builds  but  is  the  visible  embodiment  of  a Thought;  but 
bears  visible  record  of  invisible  things  ; but  is,  in  the  transcen- 
dental sense,  symbolical  as  well  as  real.’ 

‘ Man,’  says  the  Professor  elsewhere,  in  quite  antipodal  con- 
trast with  these  high-soaring  delineations,  which  we  have  here 
cut-short  on  the  verge  of  the  inane,  ‘ Man  is  by  birth  some- 
what of  an  owl.  Perhaps,  too,  of  all  the  owleries  that  ever 


176 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  hi. 

possessed  him,  the  most  owlish,  if  we  consider  it,  is  that  of 
your  actually  existing  Motive-Millwrights.  Fantastic  tricks 
enough  man  has  played,  in  his  time ; has  fancied  himself 
to  be  most  things,  down  even  to  an  animated  heap  of  Glass  : 
but  to  fancy  himself  a dead  Iron-Balance  for  weighing  Pains 
and  Pleasures  on,  was  reserved  for  this  his  latter  era.  There 
stands  he,  his  Universe  one  huge  Manger,  filled  with  hay  and 
thistles  to  be  weighed  against  each  other ; and  looks  long- 
eared enough.  Alas,  poor  devil  ! spectres  are  appointed  to 
haunt  him  : one  age  he  is  hagridden,  bewitched ; the  next, 
priestridden,  befooled ; in  all  ages,  bedevilled.  And  now  the 
Genius  of  Mechanism  smothers  him  worse  than  any  Nightmare 
did  ; till  the  Soul  is  nigh  choked  out  of  him,  and  only  a kind 
of  Digestive,  Mechanic  life  remains.  In  Earth  and  in  Heaven 
he  can  see  nothing  but  Mechanism ; has  fear  for  nothing  else, 
hope  in  nothing  else  : the  world  would  indeed  grind  him  to 
pieces ; but  cannot  he  fathom  the  Doctrine  of  Motives,  and 
cunningly  compute  these,  and  mechanise  them  to  grind  the 
other  way  ? 

‘ Were  he  not,  as  has  been  said,  purblinded  by  enchant- 
ment, you  had  but  to  bid  him  open  his  eyes  and  look.  In 
which  country,  in  which  time,  was  it  hitherto  that  man’s 
history,  or  the  history  of  any  man,  went-on  by  calculated  or 
calculable  “ Motives”  ? What  make  ye  of  your  Christianities, 
and  Chivalries,  and  Reformations,  and  Marseillese  Hymns, 
and  Reigns  of  Terror  ? Nay,  has  not  perhaps  the  Motive- 
grinder  himself  been  in  Love  ? Did  he  never  stand  so  much 
as  a contested  Election  ? Leave  him  to  Time,  and  the  medi- 
cating virtue  of  Nature.’ 

‘ Yes,  Friends,’  elsewhere  observes  the  Professor,  ‘ not  our 
Logical,  Mensurative  faculty,  but  our  Imaginative  one  is  King 
over  us ; I might  say,  Priest  and  Prophet  to  lead  us  heaven- 
ward ; or  Magician  and  Wizard  to  lead  us  hellward.  Nay, 
even  for  the  basest  Sensualist,  what  is  Sense  but  the  imple- 
ment of  Fantasy ; the  vessel  it  drinks  out  of  ? Ever  in  the 
dullest  existence  there  is  a sheen  either  of  Inspiration  or  of 


SYMBOLS 


177 


CHAP.  III.] 

Madness  (thou  partly  hast  it  in  thy  choice,  which  of  the  two), 
that  gleams-in  from  the  circumambient  Eternity,  and  colours 
with  its  own  hues  our  little  islet  of  Time.  The  Understanding 
is  indeed  thy  window,  too  clear  thou  canst  not  make  it ; but 
Fantasy  is  thy  eye,  with  its  colour-giving  retina,  healthy  or 
diseased.  Have  not  I myself  known  five-hundred  living  soldiers 
sabred  into  crows’-meat  for  a piece  of  glazed  cotton,  which 
they  called  their  Flag ; which,  had  you  sold  it  at  any  market- 
cross,  would  not  have  brought  above  three  groschen  ? Did 
not  the  whole  Hungarian  Nation  rise,  like  some  tumultuous 
moon-stirred  Atlantic,  when  Kaiser  Joseph  pocketed  their  Iron 
Crown ; an  implement,  as  was  sagaciously  observed,  in  size  and 
commercial  value  little  differing  from  a horse-shoe  ? It  is  in 
and  through  Symbols  that  man,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
lives,  works,  and  has  his  being  : those  ages,  moreover,  are 
accounted  the  noblest  which  can  the  best  recognise  symbolical 
worth,  and  prize  it  the  highest.  For  is  not  a Symbol  ever, 
to  him  who  has  eyes  for  it,  some  dimmer  or  clearer  revelation 
of  the  Godlike  ? 

‘ Of  Symbols,  however,  I remark  farther,  that  they  have 
both  an  extrinsic  and  intrinsic  value ; oftenest  the  former 
only.  What,  for  instance,  was  in  that  clouted  Shoe,  which 
the  Peasants  bore  aloft  with  them  as  ensign  in  their  Bauern- 
Jcrieg  (Peasants’  War)  ? Or  in  the  Wallet-and-staff  round 
which  the  Netherland  Gueux,  glorying  in  that  nickname  of 
Beggars,  heroically  rallied  and  prevailed,  though  against  King 
Philip  himself  P Intrinsic  significance  these  had  none ; only 
extrinsic ; as  the  accidental  Standards  of  multitudes  more  or 
less  sacredly  uniting  together ; in  which  union  itself,  as  above 
noted,  there  is  ever  something  mystical  and  borrowing  of  the 
Godlike.  Under  a like  category,  too,  stand,  or  stood,  the 
stupidest  heraldic  Coats-of-arms  ; military  Banners  everywhere; 
and  generally  all  national  or  other  sectarian  Costumes  and 
Customs  : they  have  no  intrinsic,  necessary  divineness,  or  even 
worth ; but  have  acquired  an  extrinsic  one.  Nevertheless 
through  all  these  there  glimmers  something  of  a Divine  Idea ; 

M 


178 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  iii. 

as  through  military  Banners  themselves,  the  Divine  Idea  of 
Duty,  of  heroic  Daring ; in  some  instances  of  Freedom,  of 
Right.  Nay  the  highest  ensign  that  men  ever  met  and 
embraced  under,  the  Cross  itself,  had  no  meaning  save  an 
accidental  extrinsic  one. 

£ Another  matter  it  is,  however,  when  your  Symbol  has 
intrinsic  meaning,  and  is  of  itself  Jit  that  men  should  unite 
round  it.  Let  but  the  Godlike  manifest  itself  to  Sense ; let 
but  Eternity  look,  more  or  less  visibly,  through  the  Time- 
Figure  ( Zeitbiid ) ! Then  is  it  fit  that  men  unite  there ; and 
worship  together  before  such  Symbol ; and  so  from  day  to  day, 
and  from  age  to  age,  superadd  to  it  new  divineness. 

‘ Of  this  latter  sort  are  all  true  Works  of  Art : in  them  (if 
thou  know  a Work  of  Art  from  a Daub  of  Artifice)  wilt  thou 
discern  Eternity  looking  though  Time ; the  Godlike  rendered 
visible.  Here  too  may  an  extrinsic  value  gradually  superadd 
itself : thus  certain  Iliads , and  the  like,  have,  in  three-thousand 
years,  attained  quite  new  significance.  But  nobler  than  all  in 
this  kind  are  the  Lives  of  heroic  god- inspired  Men ; for  what 
other  Work  of  Art  is  so  divine  ? In  Death  too,  in  the  Death 
of  the  Just,  as  the  last  perfection  of  a Work  of  Art,  may  we 
not  discern  symbolic  meaning  ? In  that  divinely  transfigured 
Sleep,  as  of  Victory,  resting  over  the  beloved  face  which  now 
knows  thee  no  more,  read  (if  thou  canst  for  tears)  the  conflu- 
ence of  Time  with  Eternity,  and  some  gleam  of  the  latter 
peering  through. 

‘ Highest  of  all  Symbols  are  those  wherein  the  Artist  or 
Poet  has  risen  into  Prophet,  and  all  men  can  recognise  a 
present  God,  and  worship  the  same : I mean  religious  Symbols. 
Various  enough  have  been  such  religious  Symbols,  what  we 
call  Religions ; as  men  stood  in  this  stage  of  culture  or  the 
other,  and  could  worse  or  better  body-forth  the  Godlike  : some 
Symbols  with  a transient  intrinsic  worth ; many  with  only  an 
extrinsic.  If  thou  ask  to  what  height  man  has  earned  it 
in  this  manner,  look  on  our  divinest  Symbol  : on  Jesus  of 
Nazareth,  and  his  Life,  and  his  Biography,  and  what  followed 


SYMBOLS 


179 


CHAP.  III.] 

therefrom.  Higher  has  the  human  Thought  not  yet  reached : 
this  is  Christianity  and  Christendom ; a Symbol  of  quite 
perennial,  infinite  character ; whose  significance  will  ever 
demand  to  be  anew  inquired  into,  and  anew  made  manifest. 

4 But,  on  the  whole,  as  Time  adds  much  to  the  sacredness 
of  Symbols,  so  likewise  in  his  progress  he  at  length  defaces,  or 
even  desecrates  them;  and  Symbols,  like  all  terrestrial  Garments, 
wax  old.  Homer’s  Epos  has  not  ceased  to  be  true ; yet  it  is 
no  longer  our  Epos,  but  shines  in  the  distance,  if  clearer  and 
clearer,  yet  also  smaller  and  smaller,  like  a receding  Star.  It 
needs  a scientific  telescope,  it  needs  to  be  reinterpreted  and 
artificially  brought  near  us,  before  we  can  so  much  as  know 
that  it  was  a Sun.  So  likewise  a day  comes  when  the  Runic 
Thor,  with  his  Eddas,  must  withdraw  into  dimness  ; and  many 
an  African  Mumbo-Jumbo  and  Indian  Pawaw  be  utterly 
abolished.  For  all  things,  even  Celestial  Luminaries,  much 
more  atmospheric  meteors,  have  their  rise,  their  culmination, 
their  decline.’ 

4 Small  is  this  which  thou  tellest  me,  that  the  Royal  Sceptre 
is  but  a piece  of  gilt-wood  ; that  the  Pyx  has  become  a most 
foolish  box,  and  truly,  as  Ancient  Pistol  thought,  “ of  little 
price.”  A right  Conjuror  might  I name  thee,  couldst  thou 
conjure  back  into  these  wooden  tools  the  divine  virtue  they 
once  held.’ 

4 Of  this  thing,  however,  be  certain  : wouldst  thou  plant  for 
Eternity,  then  plant  into  the  deep  infinite  faculties  of  man, 
his  Fantasy  and  Heart ; wouldst  thou  plant  for  Year  and  Day, 
then  plant  into  his  shallow  superficial  faculties,  his  Self-love 
and  Arithmetical  Understanding,  what  will  grow  there.  A 
Hierarch,  therefore,  and  Pontilf  of  the  World  will  we  call  him, 
the  Poet  and  inspired  Maker  ; who,  Prometheus-like,  can  shape 
new  Symbols,  and  bring  new  Fire  from  Heaven  to  fix  it  there. 
Such  too  will  not  always  be  wanting  ; neither  perhaps  now  are. 
Meanwhile,  as  the  average  of  matters  goes,  we  account  him 
Legislator  and  wise  who  can  so  much  as  tell  when  a Symbol 
has  grown  old,  and  gently  remove  it. 


180 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  III. 

‘ When,  as  the  last  English  Coronation1  was  preparing,1 
concludes  this  wonderful  Professor,  ‘ I read  in  their  News- 
papers that  the  “ Champion  of  England,”  he  who  has  to  offer 
battle  to  the  Universe  for  his  new  King,  had  brought  it  so  far 
that  he  could  now  “ mount  his  horse  with  little  assistance,” 
I said  to  myself : Here  also  we  have  a Symbol  well-nigh 
superannuated.  Alas,  move  whithersoever  you  may,  are  not 
the  tatters  and  rags  of  superannuated  worn-out  Symbols  (in 
this  Ragfair  of  a World)  dropping  off  everywhere,  to  hoodwink, 
to  halter,  to  tether  you ; nay,  if  you  shake  them  not  aside, 
threatening  to  accumulate,  and  perhaps  produce  suffocation  P 1 


CHAPTER  IV 
HELOTAGE 

Heuschrecke’s  Malthusian  Tract,  and  Teufelsdrbckh’s  marginal  notes 
thereon.  The  true  workman,  for  daily  bread,  or  spiritual  bread,  to  be 
honoured ; and  no  other.  The  real  privation  of  the  Poor  not  poverty  or 
toil,  but  ignorance.  Over-population : With  a world  like  ours  and  wide  as 
ours,  can  there  be  too  many  men  ? Emigration. 

At  this  point  we  determine  on  adverting  shortly,  or  rather 
reverting,  to  a certain  Tract  of  Hofrath  Heuschrecke’s,  entitled 
Institute for  the  Repression  of  Population-,  which  lies,  dishonour- 
ably enough  (with  torn  leaves,  and  a preceptible  smell  of 
aloetic  drugs),  stuffed  into  the  Bag  Pisces.  Not  indeed  for 
the  sake  of  the  Tract  itself,  which  we  admire  little ; but  of 
the  marginal  Notes,  evidently  in  Teufelsdrockh’s  hand,  which 
rather  copiously  fringe  it.  A few  of  these  may  be  in  their 
right  place  here. 

Into  the  Hofrath’s  Institute,  with  its  extraordinary  schemes, 
and  machinery  of  Corresponding  Boards  and  the  like,  we  shall 
not  so  much  as  glance.  Enough  for  us  to  understand  that 
Heuschrecke  is  a disciple  of  Malthus ; and  so  zealous  for  the 
doctrine,  that  his  zeal  almost  literally  eats  him  up.  A deadly 

1 That  of  George  iv. — Ed. 


HELOTAGE 


181 


CHAP.  IV.] 

fear  of  Population  possesses  the  Hofrath ; something  like  a 
fixed-idea  ; undoubtedly  akin  to  the  more  diluted  forms  of 
Madness.  Nowhere,  in  that  quarter  of  his  intellectual  world,  is 
there  light ; nothing  but  a grim  shadow  of  Hunger ; open 
mouths  opening  wider  and  wider ; a world  to  terminate  by 
the  frightfullest  consummation  : by  its  too  dense  inhabitants, 
famished  into  delirium,  universally  eating  one  another.  To 
make  air  for  himself  in  which  strangulation,  choking  enough  to 
a benevolent  heart,  the  Hofrath  founds,  or  proposes  to  found, 
this  Institute  of  his,  as  the  best  he  can  do.  It  is  only  with  our 
Professor’s  comments  thereon  that  we  concern  ourselves. 

First,  then,  remark  that  Teufelsdrockh,  as  a speculative 
Radical,  has  his  own  notions  about  human  dignity ; that  the 
Zahdarm  palaces  and  courtesies  have  not  made  him  forgetful 
of  the  Futteral  cottages.  On  the  blank  cover  of  Heusch- 
recke’s  Tract  we  find  the  following  indistinctly  engrossed : 

‘Two  men  I honour,  and  no  third.  First,  the  toilwom 
Craftsman  that  with  earth-made  Implement  laboriously  con- 
quers the  Earth,  and  makes  her  man’s.  Venerable  to  me  is 
the  hard  Hand ; crooked,  coarse ; wherein  notwithstanding 
lies  a cunning  virtue,  indefeasibly  royal,  as  of  the  Sceptre  of 
this  Planet.  Venerable  too  is  the  rugged  face,  all  weather- 
tanned,  besoiled,  with  its  rude  intelligence ; for  it  is  the  face 
of  a Man  living  manlike.  O,  but  the  more  venerable  for  thy 
rudeness,  and  even  because  we  must  pity  as  well  as  love  thee  ! 
Hardly-entreated  Brother ! For  us  was  thy  back  so  bent,  for 
us  were  thy  straight  limbs  and  fingers  so  deformed  : thou 
wert  our  Conscript,  on  whom  the  lot  fell,  and  fighting  our 
battles  wert  so  marred.  For  in  thee  too  lay  a god-created 
Form,  but  it  was  not  to  be  unfolded ; encrusted  must  it  stand 
with  the  thick  adhesions  and  defacements  of  Labour  : and  thy 
body,  like  thy  soul,  was  not  to  know  freedom.  Yet  toil  on, 
toil  on  : thou  art  in  thy  duty,  be  out  of  it  who  may ; thou 
toilest  for  the  altogether  indispensable,  for  daily  bread. 

‘ A second  man  I honour,  and  still  more  highly : Him 
who  is  seen  toiling  for  the  spiritually  indispensable ; not  daily 


182 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  hi. 

bread,  but  the  bread  of  Life.  Is  not  he  too  in  his  duty ; 
endeavouring  towards  inward  Harmony ; revealing  this,  by  act 
or  by  word,  through  all  his  outward  endeavours,  be  they  high 
or  low  ? Highest  of  all,  when  his  outward  and  his  inward 
endeavour  are  one  : when  we  can  name  him  Artist ; not 
earthly  Craftsman  only,  but  inspired  Thinker,  who  with 
heaven-made  Implement  conquers  Heaven  for  us ! If  the 
poor  and  humble  toil  that  we  have  Food,  must  not  the  high 
and  glorious  toil  for  him  in  return,  that  he  have  Light,  have 
Guidance,  Freedom,  Immortality  ? — These  two,  in  all  their 
degrees,  I honour : all  else  is  chaff  and  dust,  which  let  the 
wind  blow  whither  it  listeth. 

4 Unspeakably  touching  is  it,  however,  when  I find  both 
dignities  united ; and  he  that  must  toil  outwardly  for  the 
lowest  of  man’s  wants,  is  also  toiling  inwardly  for  the  highest. 
Sublimer  in  this  world  know  I nothing  than  a Peasant  Saint, 
could  such  now  anywhere  be  met  with.  Such  a one  will  take 
thee  back  to  Nazareth  itself ; thou  wilt  see  the  splendour  of 
Heaven  spring  forth  from  the  humblest  depths  of  Earth,  like 
a light  shining  in  great  darkness.’ 

And  again  : 4 It  is  not  because  of  his  toils  that  I lament 
for  the  poor : we  must  all  toil,  or  steal  (howsoever  we  name 
our  stealing),  which  is  worse ; no  faithful  workman  finds  his 
task  a pastime.  The  poor  is  hungry  and  athirst ; but  for 
him  also  there  is  food  and  drink : he  is  heavy-laden  and 
weary ; but  for  him  also  the  Heavens  send  Sleep,  and  of  the 
deepest ; in  his  smoky  cribs,  a clear  dewy  heaven  of  Rest 
envelops  him,  and  fitful  glitterings  of  cloud-skirted  Dreams. 
But  what  I do  mourn  over  is,  that  the  lamp  of  his  soul  should 
go  out ; that  no  ray  of  heavenly,  or  even  of  earthly  know- 
ledge, should  visit  him ; but  only,  in  the  haggard  darkness, 
like  two  spectres,  Fear  and  Indignation  bear  him  company. 
Alas,  while  the  body  stands  so  broad  and  brawny,  must 
the  Soul  lie  blinded,  dwarfed,  stupefied,  almost  annihilated  ! 
Alas,  was  this  too  a Breath  of  God ; bestowed  in  Heaven, 
but  on  earth  never  to  be  unfolded  ! — That  there  should  one 


HELOTAGE 


183 


CHAP.  IV.] 

Man  die  ignorant  who  had  capacity  for  Knowledge,  this  I call 
a tragedy,  wrere  it  to  happen  more  than  twenty  times  in  the 
minute,  as  by  some  computations  it  does.  The  miserable 
fraction  of  Science  which  our  united  Mankind,  in  a wide 
Universe  of  Nescience,  has  acquired,  why  is  not  this,  with  all 
diligence,  imparted  to  all  ? 1 

Quite  in  an  opposite  strain  is  the  following  : ‘ The  old 

Spartans  had  a wiser  method ; and  went  out  and  hunted- 
down  their  Helots,  and  speared  and  spitted  them,  when  they 
grew  too  numerous.  With  our  improved  fashions  of  hunting, 
Herr  Hofrath,  now  after  the  invention  of  fire-arms,  and 
standing-armies,  how  much  easier  were  such  a hunt ! Perhaps 
in  the  most  thickly-peopled  country,  some  three  days  annually 
might  suffice  to  shoot  all  the  able-bodied  Paupers  that  had 
accumulated  within  the  year.  Let  Governments  think  of  this. 
The  expense  were  trifling  : nay  the  very  carcasses  would  pay  it. 
Have  them  salted  and  barrelled  ; could  not  you  victual  there- 
with, if  not  Army  and  Navy,  yet  richly  such  infirm  Paupers, 
in  workhouses  and  elsewhere,  as  enlightened  Charity,  dreading 
no  evil  of  them,  might  see  good  to  keep  alive  P ’ 

‘And  yet,’  writes  he  farther  on,  ‘there  must  be  something 
wrong.  A full-formed  Horse  will,  in  any  market,  bring  from 
twenty  to  as  high  as  two-hundred  Friedrichs  d’or  : such  is  his 
worth  to  the  world.  A full-formed  Man  is  not  only  worth 
nothing  to  the  world,  but  the  world  could  afford  him  a round 
sum  would  he  simply  engage  to  go  and  hang  himself.  Never- 
theless, which  of  the  two  was  the  more  cunningly-devised 
article,  even  as  an  Engine  ? Good  Heavens ! A white 
European  Man,  standing  on  his  two  Legs,  with  his  two  five- 
fingered Hands  at  his  shackle-bones,  and  miraculous  Head  on  his 
shoulders,  is  worth,  I should  say,  from  fifty  to  a hundred  Horses’ ! 

‘ True,  thou  Gold-Hofrath,’  cries  the  Professor  elsewhere : 
‘ too  crowded  indeed  ! Meanwhile,  what  portion  of  this  incon- 
siderable terraqueous  Globe  have  ye  actually  tilled  and  delved, 
till  it  will  grow  no  more  ? How  thick  stands  your  Population 
in  the  Pampas  and  Savannas  of  America ; round  ancient  Car- 


184  SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  III. 

thage,  and  in  the  interior  of  Africa ; on  both  slopes  of  the 
Altaic  chain,  in  the  central  Platform  of  Asia;  in  Spain, 
Greece,  Turkey,  Crim  Tartary,  the  Curragh  of  Kildare  ? One 
man,  in  one  year,  as  I have  understood  it,  if  you  lend  him 
Earth,  will  feed  himself  and  nine  others.  Alas,  where  now 
are  the  Hengsts  and  Alarics  of  our  still-glowing,  still-expand- 
ing Europe ; who,  when  their  home  is  grown  too  narrow,  will 
enlist,  and,  like  Fire-pillars,  guide  onwards  those  superfluous 
masses  of  indomitable  living  Valour ; equipped,  not  now  with 
the  battle-axe  and  war-chariot,  but  with  the  steam-engine  and 
ploughshare  ? Where  are  they  ? — Preserving  their  Game  ! 1 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  PHCENIX 

Teufelsdrockh  considers  Society  as  dead ; its  soul  (Keligion)  gone,  its  body 
(existing  Institutions)  going.  Utilitarianism,  needing  little  farther  preach- 
ing, is  now  in  full  activity  of  destruction. — Teufelsdrockh  would  yield  to  the 
Inevitable,  accounting  that  the  best : Assurance  of  a fairer  Living  Society, 
arising,  Phcenix-like,  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  old  dead  one.  Before  that 
Phoenix  death-birth  is  accomplished,  long  time,  struggle,  and  suffering 
must  intervene. 

Putting  which  four  singular  Chapters  together,  and  alongside 
of  them  numerous  hints,  and  even  direct  utterances,  scattered 
over  these  Writings  of  his,  we  come  upon  the  startling  yet  not 
quite  unlooked-for  conclusion,  that  Teufelsdrockh  is  one  of 
those  who  consider  Society,  properly  so  called,  to  be  as  good 
as  extinct ; and  that  only  the  gregarious  feelings,  and  old  in- 
herited habitudes,  at  this  juncture,  hold  us  from  Dispersion, 
and  universal  national,  civil,  domestic  and  personal  war  ! He 
says  expressly : ‘For  the  last  three  centuries,  above  all  for  the 
last  ‘ three  quarters  of  a century,  that  same  Pericardial  Nervous 
Tissue  (as  we  named  it)  of  Religion,  where  lies  the  Life-essence 
of  Society,  has  been  smote-at  and  perforated,  needfully  and 
needlessly ; till  now  it  is  quite  rent  into  shreds  ; and  Society, 
long  pining,  diabetic,  consumptive,  can  be  regarded  as  defunct ; 


THE  PHOENIX 


185 


CHAP.  V.] 

for  those  spasmodic,  galvanic  sprawlings  are  not  life ; neither 
indeed  will  they  endure,  galvanise  as  you  may,  beyond  two 
days.’ 

‘ Call  ye  that  a Society,’  cries  he  again,  ‘ where  there  is  no 
longer  any  Social  Idea  extant ; not  so  much  as  the  Idea  of  a 
common  Home,  but  only  of  a common  over-crowded  Lodging- 
house  ? Where  each,  isolated,  regardless  of  his  neighbour, 
turned  against  his  neighbour,  clutches  what  he  can  get,  and 
cries  “ Mine  ! ” and  calls  it  Peace,  because,  in  the  cut-purse 
and  cut-throat  Scramble,  no  steel  knives,  but  only  a far  cun- 
ninger  sort,  can  be  employed  ? Where  Friendship,  Communion, 
has  become  an  incredible  tradition ; and  your  holiest  Sacra- 
mental Supper  is  a smoking  Tavern  Dinner,  with  Cook  for 
Evangelist  ? Where  your  Priest  has  no  tongue  but  for  plate- 
licking : and  your  high  Guides  and  Governors  cannot  guide ; 
but  on  all  hands  hear  it  passionately  proclaimed  : Laissez 
Juire ; Leave  us  alone  of  your  guidance,  such  light  is  darker 
than  darkness ; eat  you  your  wages,  and  sleep  ! 

‘Thus,  too,’  continues  he,  ‘does  an  observant  eye  discern 
everywhere  that  saddest  spectacle  : The  Poor  perishing,  like 
neglected,  foundered  Draught-Cattle,  of  Hunger  and  Over- 
work ; the  Rich,  still  more  wretchedly,  of  Idleness,  Satiety, 
and  Over-growth.  The  Highest  in  rank,  at  length,  without 
honour  from  the  Lowest ; scarcely,  with  a little  mouth-honour, 
as  from  tavern-waiters  who  expect  to  put  it  in  the  bill.  Once- 
sacred  Symbols  fluttering  as  empty  Pageants,  whereof  men 
grudge  even  the  expense ; a World  becoming  dismantled  : in 
one  word,  the  Church  fallen  speechless,  from  obesity  and 
apoplexy ; the  State  shrunken  into  a Police-Office,  straitened 
to  get  its  pay  ! ’ 

We  might  ask,  are  there  many  ‘observant  eyes,’  belonging 
to  practical  men  in  England  or  elsewhere,  which  have  descried 
these  phenomena  ; or  is  it  only  from  the  mystic  elevation  of  a 
German  Wahngasse  that  such  wonders  are  visible  ? Teufels- 
drockh  contends  that  the  aspect  of  a ‘ deceased  or  expiring 
Society  ’ fronts  us  everywhere,  so  that  whoso  runs  may  read. 


186 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  hi. 

4 What,  for  example,’  says  he,  4 is  the  universally-arrogated 
Virtue,  almost  the  sole  remaining  Catholic  Virtue,  of  these 
days  ? For  some  half  century,  it  has  been  the  thing  you  name 
44  Independence.”  Suspicion  of  44  Servility,”  of  reverence  for 
Superiors,  the  very  dogleech  is  anxious  to  disavow.  Fools  ! 
Were  your  Superiors  worthy  to  govern,  and  you  worthy  to 
obey,  reverence  for  them  were  even  your  only  possible  free- 
dom. Independence,  in  all  kinds,  is  rebellion  ; if  unjust 
rebellion,  why  parade  it,  and  everywhere  prescribe  it  ? 1 

But  what  then  ? Are  we  returning,  as  Rousseau  prayed,  to 
the  state  of  Nature  ? 4 The  Soul  Politic  having  departed,’  says 

Teufelsdrockh,  4 what  can  follow  but  that  the  Body  Politic  be 
decently  interred,  to  avoid  putrescence  ? Liberals,  Econo- 
mists, Utilitarians  enough  I see  marching  with  its  bier,  and 
chanting  loud  paeans,  towards  the  funeral-pile,  where,  amid 
wailings  from  some,  and  saturnalian  revelries  from  the  most, 
the  venerable  Corpse  is  to  be  burnt.  Or,  in  plain  words,  that 
these  men,  Liberals,  Utilitarians,  or  whatsoever  they  are  called, 
will  ultimately  carry  their  point,  and  dissever  and  destroy  most 
existing  Institutions  of  Society,  seems  a thing  which  has  some 
time  ago  ceased  to  be  doubtful. 

4 Do  we  not  see  a little  subdivision  of  the  grand  Utilitarian 
Armament  come  to  light  even  in  insulated  England  ? A living 
nucleus,  that  will  attract  and  grow,  does  at  length  appear  there 
also  ; and  under  curious  phasis  ; properly  as  the  inconsiderable 
fag-end,  and  so  far  in  the  rear  of  the  others  as  to  fancy  itself 
the  van.  Our  European  Mechanisers  are  a sect  of  boundless 
diffusion,  activity,  and  cooperative  spirit  : has  not  Utilitarian- 
ism flourished  in  high  places  of  Thought,  here  among  our- 
selves, and  in  every  European  country,  at  some  time  or  other, 
within  the  last  fifty  years  ? If  now  in  all  countries,  except 
perhaps  England,  it  has  ceased  to  flourish,  or  indeed  to  exist, 
among  Thinkers,  and  sunk  to  Journalists  and  the  popular 
mass, — who  sees  not  that,  as  hereby  it  no  longer  preaches, 
so  the  reason  is,  it  now  needs  no  Preaching,  but  is  in  full 
universal  Action,  the  doctrine  everywhere  known,  and  enthu- 


THE  PHCENIX 


187 


CHAP.  V.] 

siastically  laid  to  heart  ? The  fit  pabulum,  in  these  times, 
for  a certain  nigged  workshop  intellect  and  heart,  nowise 
without  their  con’esponding  workshop  strength  and  ferocity, 
it  requires  but  to  be  stated  in  such  scenes  to  make  proselytes 
enough. — Admirably  calculated  for  destroying,  only  not  for 
rebuilding  ! It  spreads  like  a sort  of  Dog-madness ; till  the 
whole  World-kennel  will  be  rabid  : then  woe  to  the  Huntsmen, 
with  or  without  their  whips  ! They  should  have  given  the 
quadrupeds  water,’  adds  he  ; 4 the  water,  namely,  of  Know- 
ledge and  of  Life,  while  it  was  yet  time.’ 

Thus,  if  Professor  Teufelsdrockh  can  be  relied  on,  we  are 
at  this  hour  in  a most  critical  condition  ; beleaguered  by  that 
boundless  4 Armament  of  Mechanisers 1 and  Unbelievers,  threat- 
ening to  strip  us  bare  ! 4 The  World,’  says  he,  4 as  it  needs 

must,  is  under  a process  of  devastation  and  waste,  which, 
whether  by  silent  assiduous  corrosion,  or  open  quicker  com- 
bustion, as  the  case  chances,  will  effectually  enough  annihilate 
the  past  Forms  of  Society  ; replace  them  with  what  it  may. 
For  the  present,  it  is  contemplated  that  when  man’s  whole 
Spiritual  Interests  are  once  divested,  these  innumerable  stript- 
off  Garments  shall  mostly  be  burnt ; but  the  sounder  Rags 
among  them  be  quilted  together  into  one  huge  Irish  watch- 
coat  for  the  defence  of  the  Body  only  ! ’ — This,  we  think,  is 
but  Job’s-news  to  the  humane  reader. 

4 Nevertheless,’  cries  Teufelsdrockh,  4 who  can  hinder  it ; 
who  is  there  that  can  clutch  into  the  wheelspokes  of  Destiny, 
and  say  to  the  Spirit  of  the  Time  : Turn  back,  I command 
thee  ? — Wiser  were  it  that  we  yielded  to  the  Inevitable  and 
Inexorable,  and  accounted  even  this  the  best.’ 

Nay,  might  not  an  attentive  Editor,  drawing  his  own  infer- 
ences from  what  stands  written,  conjecture  that  Teufelsdrockh 
individually  had  yielded  to  this  same  4 Inevitable  and  Inexor- 
able ’ heartily  enough  ; and  now  sat  waiting  the  issue,  with  his 
natural  diabolico-angelical  Indifference,  if  not  even  Placidity  ? 
Did  we  not  hear  him  complain  that  the  World  was  a 4 huge 
Ragfair,’  and  the  4 rags  and  tatters  of  old  Symbols’  were  rain- 


188 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  ill. 

ing-down  everywhere,  like  to  drift  him  in,  and  suffocate  him  ? 
What  with  those  ‘ unhunted  Helots  ’ of  his ; and  the  uneven 
sic  vos  non  vobis  pressure  and  hard-crashing  collision  he  is 
pleased  to  discern  in  existing  things ; what  with  the  so  hate- 
ful 4 empty  Masks,’  full  of  beetles  and  spiders,  yet  glaring  out 
on  him,  from  their  glass  eyes,  ‘ with  a ghastly  affectation  of 
life,’ — we  feel  entitled  to  conclude  him  even  wiling  that 
much  should  be  thrown  to  the  Devil,  so  it  were  but  done 
gently  ! Safe  himself  in  that  4 Pinnacle  of  Weissnichtwo,’  he 
would  consent,  with  a tragic  solemnity,  that  the  monster 
Utilitaria,  held  back,  indeed,  and  moderated  by  nose-rings, 
halters,  foot-shackles,  and  every  conceivable  modification  of 
rope,  should  go  forth  to  do  her  work ; — to  tread  down  old 
ruinous  Palaces  and  Temples  with  her  broad  hoof,  till  the 
whole  were  trodden  down,  that  new  and  better  might  be 
built ! Remarkable  in  this  point  of  view  are  the  following 
sentences. 

4 Society,’  says  he,  4 is  not  dead  : that  Carcass,  which  you 
call  dead  Society,  is  but  her  mortal  coil  which  she  has  shuffled- 
off,  to  assume  a nobler ; she  herself,  through  perpetual  meta- 
morphoses, in  fairer  and  fairer  development,  has  to  live  till 
Time  also  merge  in  Eternity.  Wheresoever  two  or  three 
Living  Men  are  gathered  together,  there  is  Society ; or  there 
it  will  be,  with  its  cunning  mechanisms  and  stupendous  struc- 
tures, overspreading  this  little  Globe,  and  reaching  upwards 
to  Heaven  and  downwards  to  Gehenna : for  always,  under 
one  or  the  other  figure,  it  has  two  authentic  Revelations,  of  a 
God  and  of  a Devil ; the  Pulpit,  namely,  and  the  Gallows.’ 

Indeed,  we  already  heard  him  speak  of  4 Religion,  in  un- 
noticed nooks,  weaving  for  herself  new  Vestures  ’ ; — Teufels- 
drockh  himself  being  one  of  the  loom-treadles  ? Elsewhere  he 
quotes  without  censure  that  strange  aphorism  of  Saint-Simon’s, 
concerning  which  and  whom  so  much  were  to  be  said  : 4 Luge 
d'or,  quune  aveugle  tradition  a place  jusqu’ici  dans  le  passe,  est 
devant  nous ; The  golden  age,  which  a blind  tradition  has 
hitherto  placed  in  the  Past,  is  Before  us.’ — But  listen  again  • 


THE  PHCENIX 


189 


CHAP.  V.] 

‘ When  the  Phoenix  is  fanning  her  funeral  pyre,  will  there 
not  be  sparks  flying  ! Alas,  some  millions  of  men,  and  among 
them  such  as  a Napoleon,  have  already  been  licked  into  that 
high-eddying  Flame,  and  like  moths  consumed  there.  Still 
also  have  we  to  fear  that  incautious  beards  will  get  singed. 

‘ For  the  rest,  in  what  year  of  grace  such  Phoenix-crema- 
tion will  be  completed,  you  need  not  ask.  The  law  of  Perse- 
verance is  among  the  deepest  in  man  : by  nature  he  hates 
change ; seldom  will  he  quit  his  old  house  till  it  has  actually 
fallen  about  his  ears.  Thus  have  I seen  Solemnities  linger  as 
Ceremonies,  sacred  Symbols  as  idle  Pageants,  to  the  extent  of 
three-hundred  years  and  more  after  all  life  and  sacredness  had 
evaporated  out  of  them.  And  then,  finally,  what  time  the 
Phoenix  Death-Birth  itself  will  require,  depends  on  unseen 
contingencies. — Meanwhile,  would  Destiny  offer  Mankind,  that 
after,  say  two  centuries  of  convulsion  and  conflagration,  more 
or  less  vivid,  the  fire-creation  should  be  accomplished,  and  we 
to  find  ourselves  again  in  a Living  Society,  and  no  longer 
fighting  but  working, — were  it  not  perhaps  prudent  in  Man- 
kind to  strike  the  bargain  ? ’ 

Thus  is  Teufelsdrockh  content  that  old  sick  Society  should 
be  deliberately  burnt  (alas,  with  quite  other  fuel  than  spice- 
wood)  ; in  the  faith  that  she  is  a Phoenix ; and  that  a new 
heavenborn  young  one  will  rise  out  of  her  ashes  ! We  our- 
selves, restricted  to  the  duty  of  Indicator,  shall  forbear  com- 
mentary. Meanwhile,  will  not  the  judicious  reader  shake  his 
head,  and  reproachfully,  yet  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger, 
say  or  think  : From  a Doctor  utriusque  Juris,  titular  Professor 
in  a University,  and  man  to  whom  hitherto,  for  his  services, 
Society,  bad  as  she  is,  has  given  not  only  food  and  raiment  (of 
a kind),  but  books,  tobacco  and  gukguk,  we  expected  more 
gratitude  to  his  benefactress ; and  less  of  a blind  trust  in  the 
future,  which  resembles  that  rather  of  a philosophical  Fatalist 
and  Enthusiast,  than  of  a solid  househoi  ler  paying  scot-and- 
lot  in  a Christian  country. 


190 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  hi. 


CHAPTER  VI 
OLD  CLOTHES 

Courtesy  due  from  all  men  to  all  men : The  Body  of  Man  a Revelation  in 
the  Flesh.  Teufelsdrockh’s  respect  for  Old  Clothes,  as  the  ‘Ghosts  of  life.’ 
Walk  in  Monmouth  Street,  and  meditations  there. 

As  mentioned  above,  Teufelsdrockh,  though  a sansculottist, 
is  in  practice  probably  the  politest  man  extant : his  whole 
heart  and  life  are  penetrated  and  informed  with  the  spirit  of 
politeness ; a noble  natural  Courtesy  shines  through  him, 
beautifying  his  vagaries ; like  sun-light,  making  a rosy- 
fingered,  rainbow-dyed  Aurora  out  of  mere  aqueous  clouds ; 
nay  brightening  London-smoke  itself  into  gold  vapour,  as 
from  the  crucible  of  an  alchemist.  Hear  in  what  earnest 
though  fantastic  wise  he  expresses  himself  on  this  head  : 

4 Shall  Courtesy  be  done  only  to  the  rich,  and  only  by  the 
rich  ? In  Good-breeding,  which  differs,  if  at  all,  from  High- 
breeding,  only  as  it  gracefully  remembers  the  rights  of  others, 
rather  than  gracefully  insists  on  its  own  rights,  I discern  no 
special  connexion  with  wealth  or  birth  : but  rather  that  it  lies 
in  human  nature  itself,  and  is  due  from  all  men  towards  all 
men.  Of  a truth,  were  your  Schoolmaster  at  his  post,  and 
worth  anything  when  there,  this,  with  so  much  else,  would  be 
reformed.  Nay,  each  man  were  then  also  his  neighbour’s 
schoolmaster ; till  at  length  a rude-visaged,  unmannered 
Peasant  could  no  more  be  met  with,  than  a Peasant  unac- 
quainted with  botanical  Physiology,  or  who  felt  not  that  the 
clod  he  broke  was  created  in  Heaven. 

4 For  whether  thou  bear  a sceptre  or  a sledge-hammer,  art 
not  thou  alive  ; is  not  this  thy  brother  alive  ? “ There  is 

but  one  temple  in  the  world,”  says  Novalis,  “ and  that  temple 
is  the  Body  of  Man.  Nothing  is  holier  than  this  high  Form. 
Bending  before  men  is  a reverence  done  to  this  Revelation  in 


191 


chap,  vi.]  OLD  CLOTHES 

the  Flesh.  We  touch  Heaven,  when  we  lay  our  hands  on  a 
human  Body.” 

‘ On  which  ground,  I would  fain  carry  it  farther  than  most 
do ; and  whereas  the  English  Johnson  only  bowed  to  every 
Clergyman,  or  man  with  a shovel-hat,  I would  how  to  every 
Man  with  any  sort  of  hat,  or  with  no  hat  whatever.  Is  not 
he  a Temple,  then ; the  visible  Manifestation  and  Impersona- 
tion of  the  Divinity  P And  yet,  alas,  such  indiscriminate 
bowing  serves  not.  For  there  is  a Devil  dwells  in  man,  as 
well  as  a Divinity ; and  too  often  the  bow  is  but  pocketed 
by  the  former.  It  would  go  to  the  pocket  of  Vanity  (which 
is  your  clearest  phasis  of  the  Devil,  in  these  times) ; therefore 
must  we  withhold  it. 

‘ The  gladder  am  I,  on  the  other  hand,  to  do  reverence  to 
those  Shells  and  outer  Husks  of  the  Body,  wherein  no 
devilish  passion  any  longer  lodges,  but  only  the  pure  emblem 
and  effigies  of  Man : I mean,  to  Empty,  or  even  to  Cast 
Clothes.  Nay,  is  it  not  to  Clothes  that  most  men  do 
reverence : to  the  fine  frogged  broadcloth,  nowise  to  the 
“straddling  animal  with  bandy  legs”  which  it  holds,  and 
makes  a Dignitary  of?  Who  ever  saw  any  Lord  my-lorded 
in  tattered  blanket  fastened  with  wooden  skewer  ? Neverthe- 
less, I say,  there  is  in  such  worship  a shade  of  hypocrisy,  a 
practical  deception  : for  how  often  does  the  Body  appropriate 
what  was  meant  for  the  Cloth  only ! Whoso  would  avoid 
falsehood,  which  is  the  essence  of  all  Sin,  will  perhaps  see 
good  to  take  a different  course.  That  l’everence  which  can- 
not act  without  obstruction  and  perversion  when  the  Clothes 
are  full,  may  have  free  course  when  they  are  empty.  Even  as, 
for  Hindoo  Worshippers,  the  Pagoda  is  not  less  sacred  than 
the  God ; so  do  I too  worship  the  hollow  cloth  Garment  with 
equal  fervour,  as  when  it  contained  the  Man : nay,  with  more, 
for  I now  fear  no  deception,  of  myself  or  of  others. 

‘Did  not  King  Toomtabcird , or,  in  other  words,  John 
Baliol,  reign  long  over  Scotland ; the  man  John  Baliol  being 
quite  gone,  and  only  the  “Toom  Tabard”  (Empty  Gown) 


192 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  iii. 

remaining  P What  still  dignity  dwells  in  a suit  of  Cast 
Clothes ! How  meekly  it  bears  its  honours ! No  haughty 
looks,  no  scornful  gesture  : silent  and  serene,  it  fronts  the 
world ; neither  demanding  worship,  nor  afraid  to  miss  it. 
The  Hat  still  carries  the  physiognomy  of  its  Head  : but  the 
vanity  and  the  stupidity,  and  goose-speech  which  was  the 
sign  of  these  two,  are  gone.  The  Coat-arm  is  stretched  out, 
but  not  to  strike ; the  Breeches,  in  modest  simplicity,  depend 
at  ease,  and  now  at  last  have  a graceful  flow ; the  Waistcoat 
hides  no  evil  passion,  no  riotous  desire ; hunger  or  thirst  now 
dwells  not  in  it.  Thus  all  is  purged  from  the  grossness  of 
sense,  from  the  carking  cares  and  foul  vices  of  the  World ; 
and  rides  there,  on  its  Clothes-horse ; as,  on  a Pegasus,  might 
some  skyey  Messenger,  or  purified  Apparition,  visiting  our 
low  Earth. 

‘ Often,  while  I sojourned  in  that  monstrous  tuberosity  of 
Civilised  Life,  the  Capital  of  England ; and  meditated,  and 
questioned  Destiny,  under  that  ink-sea  of  vapour,  black,  thick, 
and  multifarious  as  Spartan  broth ; and  was  one  lone  soul 
amid  those  grinding  millions ; — often  have  I turned  into  their 
Old-Clothes  Market  to  worship.  With  awe-struck  heart  I 
walk  through  that  Monmouth  Street,  with  its  empty  Suits,  as 
through  a Sanhedrim  of  stainless  Ghosts.  Silent  are  they, 
but  expressive  in  their  silence  : the  past  witnesses  and  instru- 
ments of  Woe  and  Joy,  of  Passions,  Virtues,  Crimes,  and  all 
the  fathomless  tumult  of  Good  and  Evil  in  “ the  Prison  men 
call  Life.”  Friends  ! trust  not  the  heart  of  that  man  for 
whom  Old  Clothes  are  not  venerable.  Watch,  too,  with 
reverence,  that  bearded  Jewish  High-priest,  who  with  hoarse 
voice,  like  some  Angel  of  Doom,  summons  them  from  the  four 
winds  ! On  his  head,  like  the  Pope,  he  has  three  Hats, — a 
real  triple  tiara ; on  either  hand  are  the  similitude  of  wings, 
whereon  the  summoned  Garments  come  to  alight ; and  ever, 
as  he  slowly  cleaves  the  air,  sounds  forth  his  deep  fateful  note, 
as  if  through  a trumpet  he  were  proclaiming : “ Ghosts  of 
Life,  come  to  Judgment ! ” Reck  not,  ye  fluttering  Ghosts : 


OLD  CLOTHES 


193 


CHAP.  VI.] 

he  will  purify  you  in  liis  Purgatory,  with  fire  and  with 
water ; and,  one  day,  new-created  ye  shall  reappear.  O,  let 
him  in  whom  the  flame  of  Devotion  is  ready  to  go  out,  who 
has  never  worshipped,  and  knows  not  what  to  worship,  pace 
and  repace,  with  austerest  thought,  the  pavement  of  Mon- 
mouth Street,  and  say  whether  his  heart  and  his  eyes  still 
continue  dry.  If  Field  Lane,  with  its  long  fluttering  rows  of 
yellow  handkerchiefs,  be  a Dionysius’  Ear,  where,  in  stifled 
jarring  hubbub,  we  hear  the  Indictment  which  Poverty  and 
Vice  bring  against  lazy  Wealth,  that  it  has  left  them  there 
cast-out  and  trodden  under  foot  of  Want,  Darkness  and  the 
Devil, — then  is  Monmouth  Street  a Mirza’s  Hill,  where,  in 
motley  vision,  the  whole  Pageant  of  Existence  passes  awfully 
before  us ; with  its  wail  and  jubilee,  mad  loves  and  mad 
hatreds,  church-bells  and  gallows-ropes,  farce-tragedy,  beast- 
godhood, — the  Bedlam  of  Creation  ! ’ 

To  most  men,  as  it  does  to  ourselves,  all  this  will  seem 
overcharged.  We  too  have  walked  through  Monmouth  Street; 
but  with  little  feeling  of ‘Devotion  probably  in  part  because 
the  contemplative  process  is  so  fatally  broken  in  upon  by  the 
brood  of  money-changers  who  nestle  in  that  Church,  and  impor- 
tune the  worshipper  with  merely  secular  proposals.  Whereas 
Teufelsdrockh  might  be  in  that  happy  middle  state,  which 
leaves  to  the  Clothes-broker  no  hope  either  of  sale  or  of 
purchase,  and  so  be  allowed  to  linger  there  without  molesta- 
tion.— Something  we  would  have  given  to  see  the  little  philo- 
sophical figure,  with  its  steeple-hat  and  loose  flowing  skirts, 
and  eyes  in  a fine  frenzy,  ‘ pacing  and  repacing  in  austerest 
thought’  that  foolish  Street;  which  to  him  was  a true  Delphic 
avenue,  and  supernatural  Whispering-gallery,  where  the  ‘Ghosts 
of  Life  ’ rounded  strange  secrets  in  his  ear.  O thou  philo- 
sophic Teufelsdrockh,  that  listenest  while  others  only  gabble, 
and  with  thy  quick  tympanum  hearest  the  grass  grow  ! 

At  the  same  time,  is  it  not  strange  that,  in  Paper-bag 
Documents  destined  for  an  English  "work,  there  exists  nothing 

N 


194 


SARTOR  11ESARTUS  [book  hi. 

like  an  authentic  diary  of  this  his  sojourn  in  London , and  of 
his  Meditations  among  the  Clothes-sliops  only  the  obscurest 
emblematic  shadows  ? Neither,  in  conversation  (for,  indeed,  he 
was  not  a man  to  pester  you  with  his  Travels),  have  we  heard 
him  more  than  allude  to  the  subject. 

For  the  rest,  however,  it  cannot  be  uninteresting  that  we 
here  find  how  early  the  significance  of  Clothes  had  dawned  on 
the  now  so  distinguished  Clothes-Professor.  Might  we  but 
fancy  it  to  have  been  even  in  Monmouth  Street,  at  the  bottom 
of  our  own  English  ‘ ink-sea,’  that  this  remarkable  Volume 
first  took  being,  and  shot  forth  its  salient  point  in  his  soul, — 
as  in  Chaos  did  the  Egg  of  Eros,  one  day  to  be  hatched  into 
a Universe ! 


CHAPTER  VII 

ORGANIC  FILAMENTS 

Destruction  and  Creation  ever  proceed  together ; and  organic  filaments  of 
the  Future  are  even  now  spinning.  Wonderful  connection  of  each  man 
with  all  men ; and  of  each  generation  with  all  generations,  before  and 
after : Mankind  is  One.  Sequence  and  progress  of  all  human  work,  whether 
of  creation  or  destruction,  from  age  to  age. — Titles,  hitherto  derived  from 
Fighting,  must  give  way  to  others.  Kings  will  remain  and  their  title. 
Political  Freedom,  not  to  he  attained  by  any  mechanical  contrivance. 
Hero-worship,  perennial  amongst  men ; the  cornerstone  of  polities  in  the 
Future.  Organic  filaments  of  the  New  Religion : Newspapers  and  Litera- 
ture. Let  the  faithful  soul  take  courage  ! 

Foil  us,  who  happen  to  live  while  the  World-Phoenix  is 
burning  herself,  and  burning  so  slowly  that,  as  Teufelsdrockli 
calculates,  it  were  a handsome  bargain  would  she  engage  to 
have  done  ‘ within  two  centuries,’  there  seems  to  lie  but  an 
ashy  prospect.  Not  altogether  so,  however,  does  the  Pro- 
fessor figure  it.  £ In  the  living  subject,’  says  he,  ‘ change  is 
wont  to  be  gradual : thus,  while  the  serpent  sheds  its  old 
skin,  the  new  is  already  formed  beneath.  Little  knowest 
thou  of  the  burning  of  a World-Phoenix,  who  fanciest  that 
she  must  first  burn-out,  and  lie  as  a dead  cinereous  heap ; and 


195 


CHAP.  VII.]  ORGANIC  FILAMENTS 

therefrom  the  young  one  start-up  by  miracle,  and  fly  heaven- 
ward. Far  otherwise  ! In  that  Fire- whirl  wind,  Creation  and 
Destruction  proceed  together ; ever  as  the  ashes  of  the  Old 
are  blown  about,  do  organic  filaments  of  the  New  mysteriously 
spin  themselves  : and  amid  the  rushing  and  the  waving  of  the 
Whirl  wind-element  come  tones  of  a melodious  Deathsong, 
which  end  not  but  in  tones  of  a more  melodious  Birthsong. 
Nay,  look  into  the  Fire-whirlwind  with  thy  own  eyes,  and 
thou  wilt  see.1  Let  us  actually  look,  then : to  poor  indi- 
viduals, who  cannot  expect  to  live  two  centuries,  those  same 
organic  filaments,  mysteriously  spinning  themselves,  will  be 
the  best  part  of  the  spectacle.  First,  therefore,  this  of  Man- 
kind in  general : 

4 In  vain  thou  deniest  it,1  says  the  Professor ; 4 thou  art  my 
Brother.  Thy  very  Hatred,  thy  very  Envy,  those  foolish  Lies 
thou  tellest  of  me  in  thy  splenetic  humour : what  is  all  this 
but  an  inverted  Sympathy  ? Were  I a Steam-engine,  wouldst 
thou  take  the  trouble  to  tell  lies  of  me  ? Not  thou  ! I should 
grind  all  unheeded,  whether  badly  or  well. 

4 Wondrous  truly  are  the  bonds  that  unite  us  one  and  all ; 
whether  by  the  soft  binding  of  Love,  or  the  iron  chaining  of 
Necessity,  as  we  like  to  choose  it.  More  than  once  have  I 
said  to  myself,  of  some  perhaps  whimsically  strutting  Figure, 
such  as  provokes  whimsical  thoughts  : 44  Wert  thou,  my  little 
Brotherkin,  suddenly  covered-up  within  the  largest  imaginable 
Glass-bell, — what  a thing  it  were,  not  for  thyself  only,  but  for 
the  world  ! Post  Letters,  more  or  fewer,  from  all  the  four 
winds,  impinge  against  thy  Glass  walls,  but  have  to  drop 
unread  : neither  from  within  comes  there  question  or  response 
into  any  Postbag ; thy  Thoughts  fall  into  no  friendly  ear  or 
heart,  thy  Manufacture  into  no  purchasing  hand  : thou  art  no 
longer  a circulating  venous-arterial  Heart,  that,  taking  and 
giving,  circulatest  through  all  Space  and  all  Time  : there  has 
a Hole  fallen-out  in  the  immeasurable,  universal  World- tissue, 
which  must  be  damed-up  again  !” 

‘Such  venous-arterial  circulation,  of  Letters,  verbal  Mes- 


196 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  III. 

sages,  paper  and  other  Packages,  going  out  from  him  and 
coming  in,  are  a blood-circulation,  visible  to  the  eye : but  the 
finer  nervous  circulation,  by  which  all  things,  the  minutest 
that  he  does,  minutely  influence  all  men,  and  the  very  look  of 
his  face  blesses  or  curses  whomso  it  lights  on,  and  so  generates 
ever  new  blessing  or  new  cursing : all  this  you  cannot  see,  but 
only  imagine.  I say,  there  is  not  a red  Indian,  hunting  by 
Lake  Winnipic,  can  quarrel  with  his  squaw,  but  the  whole 
world  must  smart  for  it : will  not  the  price  of  beaver  rise  ? 
It  is  a mathematical  fact  that  the  casting  of  this  pebble  from 
my  hand  alters  the  centre  of  gravity  of  the  Universe. 

4 If  now  an  existing  generation  of  men  stand  so  woven 
together,  not  less  indissolubly  does  generation  with  generation. 
Hast  thou  ever  meditated  on  that  word,  Tradition  : how  we 
inherit  not  Life  only,  but  all  the  garniture  and  form  of  Life ; 
and  work,  and  speak,  and  even  think  and  feel,  as  our  Fathers, 
and  primeval  grandfathers,  from  the  beginning,  have  given  it 
us  ? — Who  printed  thee,  for  example,  this  unpretending 
Volume  on  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes  ? Not  the  Herren 
Stillschweigen  and  Company ; but  Cadmus  of  Thebes,  Faust 
of  Mentz,  and  innumerable  others  whom  thou  knowest  not. 
Had  there  been  no  Mcesogothic  Ulfila,  there  had  been  no 
English  Shakspeare,  or  a different  one.  Simpleton  ! it  was 
Tubalcain  that  made  thy  very  Tailor’s  needle,  and  sewed  that 
court-suit  of  thine. 

4 Yes,  truly,  if  Nature  is  one,  and  a living  indivisible  whole, 
much  more  is  Mankind,  the  Image  that  reflects  and  creates 
Nature,  without  which  Nature  were  not.  As  palpable  life- 
streams  in  that  wondrous  Individual  Mankind,  among  so  many 
life-streams  that  are  not  palpable,  flow  on  those  main-currents 
of  what  we  call  Opinion  ; as  preserved  in  Institutions,  Polities, 
Churches,  above  all  in  Books.  Beautiful  it  is  to  understand 
and  know  that  a Thought  did  never  yet  die  ; that  as  thou,  the 
originator  thereof,  hast  gathered  it  and  created  it  from  the 
whole  Past,  so  thou  wilt  transmit  it  to  the  whole  Future.  It 
is  thus  that  the  heroic  heart,  the  seeing  eye  of  the  first  times. 


197 


CHAP,  vil.]  ORGANIC  FILAMENTS 

still  feels  and  sees  in  us  of  the  latest ; that  the  Wise  Man 
stands  ever  encompassed,  and  spiritually  embraced,  by  a cloud 
of  witnesses  and  brothers  ; and  there  is  a living,  literal  Com- 
munion of  Saints,  wide  as  the  World  itself,  and  as  the  His- 
tory of  the  World. 

‘Noteworthy  also,  and  serviceable  for  the  progress  of  this 
same  Individual,  wilt  thou  find  his  subdivision  into  Genera- 
tions. Generations  are  as  the  Days  of  toilsome  Mankind  : 
Death  and  Birth  are  the  vesper  and  the  matin  bells,  that 
summon  Mankind  to  sleep,  and  to  rise  refreshed  for  new 
advancement.  What  the  Father  has  made,  the  Son  can  make 
and  enjoy ; but  has  also  work  of  his  own  appointed  him. 
Thus  all  things  wax,  and  roll  onwards ; Arts,  Establishments, 
Opinions,  nothing  is  completed,  but  ever  completing.  Newton 
has  learned  to  see  what  Kepler  saw ; but  there  is  also  a fresh 
heaven-derived  force  in  Newton ; he  must  mount  to  still 
higher  points  of  vision.  So  too  the  Hebrew  Lawgiver  is,  in 
due  time,  followed  by  an  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles.  In  the 
business  of  Destruction,  as  this  also  is  from  time  to  time  a 
necessary  work,  thou  findest  a like  sequence  and  perseverance  : 
for  Luther  it  was  as  yet  hot  enough  to  stand  by  that  burning 
of  the  Pope’s  Bull ; Voltaire  could  not  warm  himself  at  the 
glimmering  ashes,  but  required  quite  other  fuel.  Thus  like- 
wise, I note,  the  English  Whig  has,  in  the  second  generation, 
become  an  English  Radical ; who,  in  the  third  again,  it  is  to 
be  hoped,  will  become  an  English  Rebuilder.  Find  Mankind 
where  thou  wilt,  thou  findest  it  in  living  movement,  in 
progress  faster  or  slower : the  Phoenix  soars  aloft,  hovers  with 
outstretched  wings,  filling  Earth  with  her  music ; or,  as  now, 
she  sinks,  and  with  spheral  swan-song  immolates  herself  in 
flame,  that  she  may  soar  the  higher  and  sing  the  clearer.’ 

Let  the  friends  of  social  order,  in  such  a disastrous  period, 
lay  this  to  heart,  and  derive  from  it  any  little  comfort  they 
can.  We  subjoin  another  passage,  concerning  Titles  : 

‘Remark,  not  without  surprise,’  says  Teufelsdrockh,  ‘how 
all  high  Titles  of  Honour  come  hitherto  from  Fighting.  Your 


198 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  III. 

Herzog  (Duke,  Dux)  is  Leader  of  Armies ; your  Earl  ( Jarl ) 
is  Strong  Man ; your  Marshal  cavalry  Horse-shoer.  A 
Millennium,  or  reign  of  Peace  and  Wisdom,  having  from  of 
old  been  prophesied,  and  becoming  now  daily  more  and  more 
indubitable,  may  it  not  be  apprehended  that  such  Fighting- 
titles  will  cease  to  be  palatable,  and  new  and  higher  need  to 
be  devised  ? 

‘ The  only  Title  wherein  I,  with  confidence,  trace  eternity, 
is  that  of 'King.  Konig  (King),  anciently  Konning,  means 
Ken-ning  (Cunning),  or  which  is  the  same  thing,  Can-ning. 
Ever  must  the  Sovereign  of  Mankind  be  fitly  entitled  King.’ 

‘ Well,  also,’  says  he  elsewhere,  4 was  it  written  by  Theo- 
logians : a King  rules  by  divine  right.  He  carries  in  him  an 
authority  from  God,  or  man  will  never  give  it  him.  Can  I 
choose  my  own  King  ? I can  choose  my  own  King  Popinjay, 
and  play  what  farce  or  tragedy  I may  with  him  : but  he  who 
is  to  be  my  Ruler,  whose  will  is  to  be  higher  than  my  will, 
was  chosen  for  me  in  Heaven.  Neither  except  in  such 
Obedience  to  the  Heaven-chosen  is  Freedom  so  much  as  con- 
ceivable.’ 

The  Editor  will  here  admit  that,  among  all  the  wondrous 
provinces  of  Teufelsdrockh’s  spiritual  world,  there  is  none  he 
walks  in  with  such  astonishment,  hesitation,  and  even  pain,  as 
in  the  Political.  How,  with  our  English  love  of  Ministry 
and  Opposition,  and  that  genei’ous  conflict  of  Parties,  mind 
warming  itself  against  mind  in  their  mutual  wrestle  for  the 
Public  Good,  by  which  wrestle,  indeed,  is  our  invaluable  Con- 
stitution kept  warm  and  alive ; how  shall  we  domesticate 
ourselves  in  this  spectral  Necropolis,  or  rather  City  both  of 
the  Dead  and  of  the  Unborn,  where  the  Present  seems  little 
other  than  an  inconsiderable  Film  dividing  the  Past  and  the 
Future  ? In  those  dim  long-drawn  expanses,  all  is  so  im- 
measurable ; much  so  disastrous,  ghastly ; your  very  radiances 
and  straggling  light-beams  have  a supernatural  character. 
And  then  with  such  an  indifference,  such  a prophetic  peaceful- 


199 


CHAP.  VII.]  ORGANIC  FILAMENTS 

ness  (accounting  the  inevitably  coming  as  already  here,  to  him 
all  one  whether  it  be  distant  by  centuries  or  only  by  days), 
does  he  sit ; — and  live,  you  would  say,  rather  in  any  other 
age  than  in  his  own  ! It  is  our  painful  duty  to  announce,  or 
repeat,  that,  looking  into  this  man,  we  discern  a deep,  silent, 
slow-burning,  inextinguishable  Radicalism,  such  as  fills  us  with 
shuddering  admiration. 

Thus,  for  example,  he  appears  to  make  little  even  of  the 
Elective  Franchise  ; at  least  so  we  interpret  the  following : 
4 Satisfy  yourselves,’  he  says,  4 by  universal,  indubitable  experi- 
ment, even  as  ye  are  now  doing  or  will  do,  whether  Freedom, 
heavenborn  and  leading  heavenward,  and  so  vitally  essential 
for  us  all,  cannot  peradventure  be  mechanically  hatched  and 
brought  to  light  in  that  same  Ballot-Box  of  yours  ; or  at  worst, 
in  some  other  discoverable  or  devisable  Box,  Edifice,  or  Steam- 
mechanism.  It  were  a mighty  convenience  ; and  beyond  all 
feats  of  manufacture  witnessed  hitherto.’  Is  Teufelsdrockh 
acquainted  with  the  British  Constitution,  even  slightly  ? — He 
says,  under  another  figure  : 4 But  after  all,  were  the  problem,  as 
indeed  it  now  everywhere  is,  To  rebuild  your  old  House  from 
the  top  downwards  (since  you  must  five  in  it  the  while),  what 
better,  what  other,  than  the  Representative  Machine  will  serve 
your  turn  ? Meanwhile,  however,  mock  me  not  with  the  name 
of  Free,  44  when  you  have  but  knit-up  my  chains  into  orna- 
mental festoons.’” — Or  what  will  any  member  of  the  Peace 
Society  make  of  such  an  assertion  as  this  : 4 The  lower  people 
everywhere  desire  War.  Not  so  unwisely  ; there  is  then  a 
demand  for  lower  people — to  be  shot  ! ’ 

Gladly,  therefore,  do  we  emerge  from  those  soul-confusing 
labyrinths  of  speculative  Radicalism,  into  somewhat  clearer 
regions.  Here,  looking  round,  as  was  our  hest,  for  4 organic 
filaments,’  we  ask,  May  not  this,  touching  ‘Hero-worship,’  be  of 
the  number  ? It  seems  of  a cheerful  character  ; yet  so  quaint, 
so  mystical,  one  knows  not  what,  or  how  little,  may  lie  under 
it.  Our  readers  shall  look  with  their  own  eyes  : 

4 True  is  it  that,  in  these  days,  man  can  do  almost  all 


200 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  hi. 

things,  only  not  obey.  True  likewise  that  whoso  cannot  obey 
cannot  be  free,  still  less  bear  rule  ; he  that  is  the  inferior  of 
nothing,  can  be  the  superior  of  nothing,  the  equal  of  nothing. 
Nevertheless,  believe  not  that  man  has  lost  his  faculty  of 
Reverence  ; that  if  it  slumber  in  him,  it  has  gone  dead.  Pain- 
ful for  man  is  that  same  rebellious  Independence,  when  it 
has  become  inevitable  ; only  in  loving  companionship  with  his 
fellows  does  he  feel  safe  ; only  in  reverently  bowing  down 
before  the  Higher  does  he  feel  himself  exalted. 

£ Or  what  if  the  character  of  our  so  troublous  Era  lay  even 
in  this  : that  man  had  forever  cast  away  Fear,  which  is  the 
lower ; but  not  yet  risen  into  perennial  Reverence,  which  is 
the  higher  and  highest  ? 

‘ Meanwhile,  observe  with  joy,  so  cunningly  has  Nature 
ordered  it,  that  whatsoever  man  ought  to  obey,  he  cannot  but 
obey.  Before  no  faintest  revelation  of  the  Godlike  did  he 
ever  stand  irreverent ; least  of  all,  when  the  Godlike  showed 
itself  revealed  in  his  fellow-man.  Thus  is  there  a true  religious 
Loyalty  forever  rooted  in  his  heart ; nay  in  all  ages,  even  in 
ours,  it  manifests  itself  as  a more  or  less  orthodox  Hero-wor- 
sliip.  In  which  fact,  that  Hero-worship  exists,  has  existed, 
and  will  forever  exist,  universally  among  Mankind,  mayest  thou 
discern  the  corner-stone  of  living-rock,  whereon  all  Polities  for 
the  remotest  time  may  stand  secure.1 

Do  our  readers  discern  any  such  corner-stone,  or  even  so 
much  as  what  Teufelsdrockh  is  looking  at  ? He  exclaims, £ Or 
hast  thou  forgotten  Paris  and  Voltaire  ? Plow  the  aged,  withered 
man,  though  but  a Sceptic,  Mocker,  and  millinery  Court-poet, 
yet  because  even  he  seemed  the  Wisest,  Best,  could  drag  man- 
kind at  his  chariot- wheels,  so  that  princes  coveted  a smile  from 
him,  and  the  loveliest  of  France  would  have  laid  their  hair 
beneath  his  feet  ! All  Paris  was  one  vast  Temple  of  Hero- 
worship  ; though  their  Divinity,  moreover,  was  of  feature  too 
apish. 

‘ But  if  such  things,1  continues  he,  ‘ were  done  in  the  dry 
tree,  what  will  be  done  in  the  green  ? If,  in  the  most  parched 


201 


chap,  vii.]  ORGANIC  FILAMENTS 

season  of  Man's  History,  in  the  most  parched  spot  of  Europe, 
when  Parisian  life  was  at  best  but  a scientific  Hortus  Siccus, 
bedizened  with  some  Italian  Gumflowers,  such  virtue  could 
come  out  of  it ; what  is  to  be  looked  for  when  Life  again 
waves  leafy  and  bloomy,  and  your  Hero-Divinity  shall  have 
nothing  apelike,  but  be  wholly  human  ? Know  that  there  is 
in  man  a quite  indestructible  Reverence  for  whatsoever  holds 
of  Heaven,  or  even  plausibly  counterfeits  such  holding.  Show 
the  dullest  clodpole,  show  the  haughtiest  featherhead,  that 
a soul  higher  than  himself  is  actually  here  ; were  his  knees 
stiffened  into  brass,  he  must  down  and  worship.’ 

Organic  filaments,  of  a more  authentic  sort,  mysteriously 
spinning  themselves,  some  will  perhaps  discover  in  the  follow- 
ing passage  : 

‘ There  is  no  Church,  sayest  thou  ? The  voice  of  Prophecy 
has  gone  dumb  ? This  is  even  what  I dispute  : but  in  any 
case,  hast  thou  not  still  Preaching  enough  ? A Preaching  Friar 
settles  himself  in  every  village  ; and  builds  a pulpit,  which  he 
calls  Newspaper.  Therefrom  he  preaches  what  most  moment- 
ous doctrine  is  in  him,  for  man’s  salvation  ; and  dost  not  thou 
listen,  and  believe  ? Look  well,  thou  seest  everywhere  a new 
Clergy  of  the  Mendicant  Orders,  some  bare-footed,  some  almost 
bare-backed,  fashion  itself  into  shape,  and  teach  and  preach, 
zealously  enough,  for  copper  alms  and  the  love  of  God.  These 
break  in  pieces  the  ancient  idols  ; and,  though  themselves  too 
often  reprobate,  as  idol-breakers  are  wont  to  be,  mark  out  the 
sites  of  new  Churches,  where  the  true  God-ordained,  that  are 
to  follow,  may  find  audience,  and  minister.  Said  I not,  Before 
the  old  skin  was  shed,  the  new  had  formed  itself  beneath  it  ? ’ 

Perhaps  also  in  the  following  ; wherewith  we  now  hasten  to 
knit-up  this  ravelled  sleeve  : 

4 But  there  is  no  Religion  ? ’ reiterates  the  Professor.  * Fool ! 
I tell  thee,  there  is.  Hast  thou  well  considered  all  that  lies 
in  this  immeasurable  froth-ocean  we  name  Literature  ? Fraar- 

O 

ments  of  a genuine  Church- Homiletic  lie  scattered  there,  which 
Time  will  assort  : nay  fractions  even  of  a Liturgy  could  I 


202 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  ill. 

point  out.  And  knowest  thou  no  Prophet,  even  in  the  ves- 
ture, environment,  and  dialect  of  this  age  ? None  to  whom 
the  Godlike  had  revealed  itself,  through  all  meanest  and  highest 
forms  of  the  Common  ; and  by  him  been  again  prophetically 
revealed  : in  whose  inspired  melody,  even  in  these  rag-gather- 
ing and  rag-burning  days,  Man’s  Life  again  begins,  were  it  but 
afar  off,  to  be  divine  ? Knowest  thou  none  such  ? I know 
him,  and  name  him — Goethe. 

4 But  thou  as  yet  standest  in  no  Temple ; joinest  in  no 
Psalm-worship  ; feelest  well  that,  where  there  is  no  minister- 
ing Priest,  the  people  perish  ? Be  of  comfort  ! Thou  art 
not  alone,  if  thou  have  Faith.  Spake  we  not  of  a Communion 
of  Saints,  unseen,  yet  not  unreal,  accompanying  and  brother- 
like embracing  thee,  so  thou  be  worthy  ? Their  heroic  Suffer- 
ings rise  up  melodiously  together  to  Heaven,  out  of  all  lands, 
and  out  of  all  times,  as  a sacred  Miserere  ; their  heroic  Actions 
also,  as  a boundless  everlasting  Psalm  of  Triumph.  Neither 
say  that  thou  hast  now  no  Symbol  of  the  Godlike.  Is  not 
God’s  Universe  a Symbol  of  the  Godlike  ; is  not  Immensity  a 
Temple ; is  not  Man’s  History,  and  Men’s  History,  a per- 
petual Evangel  ? Listen,  and  for  organ-music  thou  wilt  ever, 
as  of  old,  hear  the  Morning  Stars  sing  together.’ 


CHAPTER  VIII 

NATURAL  SUPERNATURAL  ISM 

Deep  significance  of  Miracles.  Littleness  of  human  Science : Divine  in- 
comprehensibility of  Nature.  Custom  blinds  us  to  the  miraculousness  of 
daily-recurring  miracles ; so  do  Names.  Space  and  Time,  appearances 
only  ; forms  of  human  Thought : A glimpse  of  Immortality.  How  Space 
hides  from  us  the  wondrousness  of  our  commonest  powers ; and  Time,  the 
divinely  miraculous  course  of  human  history. 

It  is  in  his  stupendous  Section,  headed  Natural  Super- 
naturalism, that  the  Professor  first  becomes  a Seer  ; and,  after 
long  effort,  such  as  we  have  witnessed,  finally  subdues  under  his 


CHAP.  VIII.]  NATURAL  SUPERNATURALISM  203 

feet  this  refractory  Clothes-Philosophy,  and  takes  victorious  pos- 
session thereof.  Phantasms  enough  he  has  had  to  struggle  with  ; 
4 Cloth- webs  and  Cob-webs,’  of  Imperial  Mantles,  Superannu- 
ated Symbols,  and  what  not  : yet  still  did  he  courageously 
pierce  through.  Nay,  worst  of  all,  two  quite  mysterious, 
world-embracing  Phantasms,  Time  and  Space,  have  ever 
hovered  round  him,  perplexing  and  bewildering  : but  with 
these  also  he  now  resolutely  grapples,  these  also  he  victoriously 
rends  asunder.  In  a word,  he  has  looked  fixedly  on  Existence, 
till,  one  after  the  other,  its  earthly  hulls  and  garnitures  have 
all  melted  away  ; and  now,  to  his  rapt  vision,  the  interior 
celestial  Holy  of  Holies  lies  disclosed. 

Here,  therefore,  properly  it  is  that  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes 
attains  to  Transcendentalism  ; this  last  leap,  can  we  but  clear 
it,  takes  us  safe  into  the  promised  land,  where  Palingenesia,  in 
all  senses,  may  be  considered  as  beginning.  4 Courage,  then  ! ’ 
may  our  Diogenes  exclaim,  with  better  right  than  Diogenes 
the  First  once  did.  This  stupendous  Section  we,  after  long 
painful  meditation,  have  found  not  to  be  unintelligible  ; but,  on 
the  contrary,  to  grow  clear,  nay  radiant,  and  all-illuminating. 
Let  the  reader,  turning  on  it  what  utmost  force  of  speculative 
intellect  is  in  him,  do  his  part  ; as  we,  by  judicious  selection 
and  adjustment,  shall  study  to  do  ours  : 

4 Deep  has  been,  and  is,  the  significance  of  Miracles,’  thus 
quietly  begins  the  Professor  ; 4 far  deeper  perhaps  than  we 
imagine.  Meanwhile,  the  question  of  questions  were  : What 
specially  is  a Miracle  ? To  that  Dutch  King  of  Siam,  an 
icicle  had  been  a miracle ; whoso  had  carried  with  him  an 
air-pump,  and  vial  of  vitriolic  ether,  might  have  worked  a 
miracle.  To  my  Horse,  again,  who  unhappily  is  still  more 
unscientific,  do  not  I work  a miracle,  and  magical  44  Open 
sesame ! ” every  time  I please  to  pay  twopence,  and  open  for 
him  an  impassable  Schlagbavm,  or  shut  Turnpike  ? 

4 44  But  Is  not  a real  Miracle  simply  a violation  of  the  Laws 
of  Nature  ? ” ask  several.  Whom  I answer  by  this  new 
question  : Where  are  the  Laws  of  Nature  ? To  me  perhaps 


204  SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  ill. 

the  rising  of  one  from  the  dead  were  no  violation  of  these 
Laws,  but  a confirmation ; were  some  far  deeper  Law,  now 
first  penetrated  into,  and  by  Spiritual  Force,  even  as  the  rest 
have  all  been,  brought  to  bear  on  us  with  its  Material  Force. 

‘ Here  too  may  some  inquire,  not  without  astonishment : 
On  what  ground  shall  one,  that  can  make  Iron  swim,  come 
and  declare  that  therefore  he  can  teach  Religion  ? To  us, 
truly,  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  such  declaration  were  inept 
enough ; which  nevertheless  to  our  fathers,  of  the  First 
Century,  was  full  of  meaning. 

‘ “ But  is  it  not  the  deepest  Law  of  Nature  that  she  be 
constant  ?”  cries  an  illuminated  class  : “ Is  not  the  Machine  of 
the  Universe  fixed  to  move  by  unalterable  rules  P ” Probable 
enough,  good  friends : nay  I,  too,  must  believe  that  the  God, 
whom  ancient  inspired  men  assert  to  be  “without  variable- 
ness or  shadow  of  turning,'”  does  indeed  never  change ; that 
Nature,  that  the  Universe,  which  no  one  whom  it  so  pleases 
can  be  prevented  from  calling  a Machine,  does  move  by  the 
most  unalterable  rules.  And  now  of  you,  too,  I make  the 
old  inquiry  : What  those  same  unalterable  rules,  forming  the 
complete  Statute-Book  of  Nature,  may  possibly  be  ? 

4 They  stand  written  in  our  Works  of  Science,  say  you ; 
in  the  accumulated  records  of  Man’s  Experience  ? — Was  Man 
with  his  Experience  present  at  the  Creation,  then,  to  see  how 
it  all  went  on  ? Have  any  deepest  scientific  individuals  yet 
dived  down  to  the  foundations  of  the  Universe,  and  gauged 
everything  there  ? Did  the  Maker  take  them  into  His  coun- 
sel ; that  they  read  His  groundplan  of  the  incomprehensible 
All ; and  can  say,  This  stands  marked  therein,  and  no  more 
than  this  ? Alas,  not  in  anywise  ! These  scientific  individuals 
have  been  nowhere  but  where  we  also  are ; have  seen  some 
handbreadths  deeper  than  we  see  into  the  Deep  that  is  infinite, 
without  bottom  as  without  shore. 

‘ Laplace’s  Book  on  the  Stars,  wherein  he  exhibits  that 
certain  Planets,  with  their  Satellites,  gyrate  round  our  worthy 
Sun,  at  a rate  and  in  a course,  which,  by  greatest  good 


CHAP.  VIII. J NATURAL  SUPERNATURALISM  205 

fortune,  he  and  the  like  of  him  have  succeeded  in  detecting, 
— is  to  me  as  precious  as  to  another.  But  is  this  what  thou 
namest  “ Mechanism  of  the  Heavens,”  and  “ System  of  the 
World  ” ; this,  wherein  Sirius  and  the  Pleiades,  and  all 
Herschel’s  Fifteen-thousand  Suns  per  minute,  being  left  out, 
some  paltry  handful  of  Moons,  and  inert  Balls,  had  been — 
looked  at,  nicknamed,  and  marked  in  the  Zodiacal  Way-bill ; 
so  that  we  can  now  prate  of  their  Whereabout ; their  How, 
then  Why,  their  "What,  being  hid  from  us,  as  in  the  signless 
Inane  ? 

£ System  of  Nature  ! To  the  wisest  man,  wide  as  is  his 
vision,  Nature  remains  of  quite  infinite  depth,  of  quite  infinite 
expansion ; and  all  Experience  thereof  limits  itself  to  some 
few  computed  centuries  and  measured  square-miles.  The 
course  of  Nature’s  phases,  on  this  our  little  fraction  of  a 
Planet,  is  partially  known  to  us  : but  who  knows  what  deeper 
courses  these  depend  on ; what  infinitely  larger  Cycle  (of 
causes)  our  little  Epicycle  revolves  on  ? To  the  Minnow 
every  cranny  and  pebble,  and  quality  and  accident,  of  its 
little  native  Creek  may  have  become  familiar  : but  does  the 
Minnow  understand  the  Ocean  Tides  and  periodic  Currents, 
the  Trade-winds,  and  Monsoons,  and  Moon’s  Eclipses ; by 
all  which  the  condition  of  its  little  Creek  is  regulated,  and 
may,  from  time  to  time  (wnmiraculously  enough),  be  quite 
overset  and  reversed  P Such  a minnow  is  Man ; his  Creek 
this  Planet  Earth ; his  Ocean  the  immeasurable  All ; his 
Monsoons  and  periodic  Currents  the  mysterious  Course  of 
Providence  through  HCons  of  YEons. 

‘ We  speak  of  the  Volume  of  Nature  : and  truly  a Volume 
it  is, — whose  Author  and  Writer  is  God.  To  read  it ! Dost 
thou,  does  man,  so  much  as  well  know  the  Alphabet  thereof? 
With  its  Words,  Sentences,  and  grand  descriptive  Pages, 
poetical  and  philosophical,  spread  out  through  Solar  Systems, 
and  Thousands  of  Years,  we  shall  not  try  thee.  It  is  a 
Volume  written  in  celestial  hieroglyphs,  in  the  true  Sacred- 
writing  ; of  which  even  Prophets  are  happy  that  they  can 


206 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  ill. 

read  here  a line  and  there  a line.  As  for  your  Institutes, 
and  Academies  of  Science,  they  strive  bravely ; and,  from 
amid  the  thick-crowded,  inextricably  intertwisted  hieroglyphic 
writing,  pick  out,  by  dextrous  combination,  some  Letters  in 
the  vulgar  Character,  and  therefrom  put  together  this  and 
the  other  economic  Recipe,  of  high  avail  in  Practice.  That 
Nature  is  more  than  some  boundless  Volume  of  such  Recipes, 
or  huge,  well-nigh  inexhaustible  Domestic-Cookery  Book,  of 
which  the  whole  secret  will  in  this  manner  one  day  evolve 
itself,  the  fewest  dream. 

£ Custom,1  continues  the  Professor,  £ doth  make  dotards  of 
us  all.  Consider  well,  thou  wilt  find  that  Custom  is  the 
greatest  of  Weavers ; and  weaves  air-raiment  for  all  the 
Spirits  of  the  Universe ; whereby  indeed  these  dwell  with  us 
visibly,  as  ministering  servants,  in  our  houses  and  workshops ; 
but  their  spiritual  nature  becomes,  to  the  most,  forever 
hidden.  Philosophy  complains  that  Custom  has  hoodwinked 
us,  from  the  first ; that  we  do  everything  by  Custom,  even 
Believe  by  it ; that  our  very  Axioms,  let  us  boast  of  Free- 
thinking  as  we  may,  are  oftenest  simply  such  Beliefs  as  we 
have  never  heard  questioned.  Nay,  what  is  Philosophy 
throughout  but  a continual  battle  against  Custom ; an  ever- 
renewed  effort  to  transcend  the  sphere  of  blind  Custom,  and 
so  become  Transcendental  ? 

£ Innumerable  are  the  illusions  and  legerdemain-tricks  of 
Custom  : but  of  all  these,  perhaps  the  cleverest  is  her  knack 
of  persuading  us  that  the  Miraculous,  by  simple  repetition, 
ceases  to  be  Miraculous.  True,  it  is  by  this  means  we  live ; 
for  man  must  work  as  well  as  wonder : and  herein  is  Custom 
so  far  a kind  nurse,  guiding  him  to  his  true  benefit.  But  she 
is  a fond  foolish  nurse,  or  rather  we  are  false  foolish  nurse- 
lings, when,  in  our  resting  and  reflecting  horn’s,  we  prolong 
the  same  deception.  Am  I to  view  the  Stupendous  with 
stupid  indifference,  because  I have  seen  it  twice,  or  two- 
hundred,  or  two-million  times  ? There  is  no  reason  in  Nature 


CHAP,  viil]  NATURAL  SUPERNATURALISM  207 

or  in  Art  why  I should  : unless,  indeed,  I am  a mere  Work- 
Machine,  for  whom  the  divine  gift  of  Thought  were  no  other 
than  the  terrestrial  gift  of  Steam  is  to  the  Steam-engine ; a 
power  whereby  cotton  might  be  spun,  and  money  and  money’s 
worth  realised. 

‘ Notable  enough  too,  here  as  elsewhere,  wilt  thou  find  the 
potency  of  Names ; which  indeed  are  but  one  kind  of  such 
custom-woven,  wonder-hiding  Garments.  Witchcraft,  and  all 
manner  of  Spectre-work,  and  Demonology,  we  have  now 
named  Madness  and  Diseases  of  the  Nerves.  Seldom  reflecting 
that  still  the  new  question  comes  upon  us : What  is  Mad- 
ness, what  are  Nerves  ? Ever,  as  before,  does  Madness  remain 
a mysterious-terrific,  altogether  infernal  boiling-up  of  the 
Nether  Chaotic  Deep,  through  this  fair-painted  Vision  of 
Creation,  which  swims  thereon,  which  we  name  the  Real. 
Was  Luther’s  Picture  of  the  Devil  less  a Reality,  whether  it 
were  formed  within  the  bodily  eye,  or  without  it  ? In  every 
the  wisest  Soul  lies  a whole  world  of  internal  Madness,  an 
authentic  Demon-Empire ; out  of  which,  indeed,  his  world  of 
Wisdom  has  been  creatively  built  together,  and  now  rests  there, 
as  on  its  dark  foundations  does  a habitable  flowery  Earth-rind. 

4 But  deepest  of  all  illusory  Appearances,  for  hiding 
Wonder,  as  for  many  other  ends,  are  your  two  grand  funda- 
mental world-enveloping  Appearances,  Space  and  Time.  These, 
as  spun  and  woven  for  us  from  before  Birth  itself,  to  clothe 
our  celestial  Me  for  dwelling  here,  and  yet  to  blind  it, — lie 
all-embracing,  as  the  universal  canvas,  or  warp  and  woof, 
whereby  all  minor  Illusions,  in  this  Phantasm  Existence, 
weave  and  paint  themselves.  In  vain,  while  here  on  Earth, 
shall  you  endeavour  to  strip  them  off ; you  can,  at  best,  but 
rend  them  asunder  for  moments,  and  look  through.  • 

4 Fortunatus  had  a wishing  Hat,  which  when  he  put  on, 
and  wished  himself  Anywhere,  behold  he  was  There.  By 
this  means  had  Fortunatus  triumphed  over  Space,  he  had 
annihilated  Space ; for  him  there  was  no  Where,  but  all  was 


208 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  hi. 

Here.  Were  a Hatter  to  establish  himself,  in  the  Wahngasse 
of  Weissnichtwo,  and  make  felts  of  this  sort  for  all  mankind, 
what  a world  we  should  have  of  it ! Still  stranger,  should,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  another  Hatter  establish  him- 
self ; and,  as  his  fellow-craftsman  made  Space-annihilating 
Hats,  make  Time-annihilating ! Of  both  would  I purchase, 
were  it  with  my  last  groschen  ; but  chiefly  of  this  latter.  To 
clap-on  your  felt,  and,  simply  by  wishing  that  you  were  Any- 
where, straightway  to  be  1 here ! Next  to  clap-on  your  other 
felt,  and,  simply  by  wishing  that  you  were  An yzvhen,  straight- 
way to  be  Then ! This  were  indeed  the  grander : shooting 
at  Avill  from  the  Fire-Creation  of  the  World  to  its  Fire-Con- 
summation ; here  historically  present  in  the  First  Century, 
conversing  face  to  face  with  Paul  and  Seneca ; there  pro- 
phetically in  the  Thirty-first,  conversing  also  face  to  face  with 
other  Pauls  and  Senecas,  who  as  yet  stand  hidden  in  the  depth 
of  that  late  Time  ! 

‘ Or  thinkest  thou  it  were  impossible,  unimaginable  ? Is 
the  Past  annihilated,  then,  or  only  past ; is  the  Future  non- 
extant,  or  only  future  ? Those  mystic  faculties  of  thine, 
Memory  and  Hope,  already  answer  : already  through  those 
mystic  avenues,  thou  the  Earth-blinded  summonest  both  Past 
and  Future,  and  communest  with  them,  though  as  yet  darkly, 
and  with  mute  beckonings.  The  curtains  of  Yesterday  drop 
down,  the  curtains  of  Tomorrow  roll  up ; but  Yesterday  and 
Tomorrow  both  are.  Pierce  through  the  Time-element,  glance 
into  the  Eternal.  Believe  what  thou  findest  written  in  the 
sanctuaries  of  Man’s  Soul,  even  as  all  Thinkers,  in  all  ages, 
have  devoutly  read  it  there  : that  Time  and  Space  are  not  God, 
but  creations  of  God;  that  with  God  as  it  is  a universal  Here, 
so  is  it  an  everlasting  Now. 

‘ And  seest  thou  therein  any  glimpse  of  Immortality  ? — O 
Heaven  ! Is  the  white  Tomb  of  our  Loved  One,  who  died 
from  our  arms,  and  had  to  be  left  behind  us  there,  which  rises 
in  the  distance,  like  a pale,  mournfully  receding  Milestone,  to 
tell  how  many  toilsome  uncheered  miles  we  have  journeyed  on 


CHAP.  VIII.]  NATURAL  SUPERNATURALISM  209 

alone, — but  a pale  spectral  Illusion  ! Is  the  lost  Friend  still 
mysteriously  Here,  even  as  we  are  Here  mysteriously,  with 
God ! — Know  of  a truth  that  only  the  Time-shadows  have 
perished,  or  are  perishable ; that  the  real  Being  of  whatever 
was,  and  whatever  is,  and  whatever  will  be,  is  even  now  and  for- 
ever. This,  should  it  unhappily  seem  new,  thou  mayest  ponder 
at  thy  leisure ; for  the  next  twenty  years,  or  the  next  twenty 
centuries  : believe  it  thou  must ; understand  it  thou  canst  not. 

‘ That  the  Thought-forms,  Space  and  Time,  wherein,  once 
for  all,  we  are  sent  into  this  Earth  to  live,  should  condition 
and  determine  our  whole  Practical  reasonings,  conceptions,  and 
imagings  or  imaginings,  seems  altogether  fit,  just,  and  unavoid- 
able. But  that  they  should,  furthermore,  usurp  such  sway 
over  pure  spiritual  Meditation,  and  blind  us  to  the  wonder 
everywhere  lying  close  on  us,  seems  nowise  so.  Admit  Space 
and  Time  to  their  due  rank  as  Forms  of  Thought ; nay  even, 
if  thou  wilt,  to  their  quite  undue  rank  of  Realities  : and  con- 
sider, then,  with  thyself  how  their  thin  disguises  hide  from  us 
the  brightest  God-effulgences  ! Thus,  were  it  not  miraculous, 
could  I stretch  forth  my  hand  and  clutch  the  Sun  ? Yet  thou 
seest  me  daily  stretch  forth  my  hand  and  therewith  clutch  many 
a thing,  and  swing  it  hither  and  thither.  Art  thou  a grown 
baby,  then,  to  fancy  that  the  Miracle  lies  in  miles  of  distance,  or 
in  pounds  avoirdupois  of  weight ; and  not  to  see  that  the  true 
inexplicable  God-revealing  Miracle  lies  in  this,  that  I can  stretch 
forth  my  hand  at  all ; that  I have  free  Force  to  clutch  aught 
therewith  ? Innumerable  other  of  this  sort  are  the  deceptions, 
and  wonder-hiding  stupefactions,  which  Space  practises  on  us. 

4 Still  worse  is  it  with  regard  to  Time.  Your  grand  anti- 
magician, and  universal  wonder-hider,  is  this  same  lying  Time. 
Had  we  but  the  Time-annihilating  Hat,  to  put  on  for  once  only, 
we  should  see  ourselves  in  a World  of  Miracles,  wherein  all  fabled 
or  authentic  Thaumaturgy,  and  feats  of  Magic,  were  outdone. 
But  unhappily  we  have  not  such  a Hat ; and  man,  poor  fool 
that  he  is,  can  seldom  and  scantily  help  himself  without  one. 

4 Were  it  not  wonderful,  for  instance,  had  Orpheus,  or 

o 


210 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  ill. 

Amphion,  built  the  walls  of  Thebes  by  the  mere  sound  of  his 
Lyre  ? Yet  tell  me,  Who  built  these  walls  of  Weissnichtwo  ; 
summoning  out  all  the  sandstone  rocks,  to  dance  along  from 
the  Steiribruch  (now  a huge  Troglodyte  Chasm,  with  frightful 
green-mantled  pools) ; and  shape  themselves  into  Doric  and 
Ionic  pillars,  squared  ashlar  houses  and  noble  streets  ? Was 
it  not  the  still  higher  Orpheus,  or  Orpheuses,  who,  in  past 
centuries,  by  the  divine  Music  of  Wisdom,  succeeded  in  civil- 
ising Man  ? Our  highest  Orpheus  walked  in  Judea,  eighteen- 
hundred  years  ago  : his  sphere-melody,  flowing  in  wild  native 
tones,  took  captive  the  ravished  souls  of  men ; and,  being  of 
a true  sphere-melody  still  flows  and  sounds,  though  now  -with 
thousandfold  accompaniments,  and  rich  symphonies,  through 
all  our  hearts ; and  modulates,  and  divinely  leads  them.  Is 
that  a wonder,  which  happens  in  two  hours ; and  does  it  cease 
to  be  wonderful  if  happening  in  two  million  ? Not  only  was 
Thebes  built  by  the  music  of  an  Orpheus ; but  without  the 
music  of  some  inspired  Orpheus  was  no  city  ever  built,  no 
work  that  man  glories  in  ever  done. 

‘ Sweep  away  the  Illusion  of  Time ; glance,  if  thou  have 
eyes,  from  the  near  moving-cause  to  its  far-distant  Mover : 
The  stroke  that  came  transmitted  through  a whole  galaxy  of 
elastic  balls,  was  it  less  a stroke  than  if  the  last  ball  only  had 
been  struck,  and  sent  flying?  O,  could  I (with  the  Time- 
annihilating  Hat)  transport  thee  direct  from  the  Beginnings 
to  the  Endings,  how  were  thy  eyesight  unsealed,  and  thy  heart 
set  flaming  in  the  Light-sea  of  celestial  wonder ! Then  sawest 
thou  that  this  fair  Universe,  were  it  in  the  meanest  province 
thereof,  is  in  very  deed  the  star-doomed  City  of  God ; that 
through  every  star,  through  every  grass-blade,  and  most 
through  every  Living  Soul,  the  glory  of  a present  God  still 
beams.  But  Nature,  which  is  the  Time-vesture  of  God,  and 
reveals  Him  to  the  wise,  hides  Him  from  the  foolish. 

4 Again,  could  anything  be  more  miraculous  than  an  actual 
authentic  Ghost  ? The  English  Johnson  longed,  all  his  life, 
to  see  one ; but  could  not,  though  he  went  to  Cock  Lane,  and 


CHAP.  VIII.]  NATURAL  SUPERNATURALISM  211 

thence  to  the  church- vaults,  and  tapped  on  coffins.  Foolish 
Doctor ! Did  he  never,  with  the  mind’s  eye  as  well  as  with 
the  body’s,  look  round  him  into  that  full  tide  of  human  Life 
he  so  loved ; did  he  never  so  much  as  look  into  Himself  ? 
The  good  Doctor  was  a Ghost,  as  actual  and  authentic  as 
heart  could  wish ; well-nigh  a million  of  Ghosts  were  travel- 
ling the  streets  by  his  side.  Once  more  I say,  sweep  away 
the  illusion  of  Time ; compress  the  threescore  years  into  three 
minutes  : what  else  was  he,  what  else  are  we  ? Are  we  not 
Spirits,  that  are  shaped  into  a body,  into  an  Appearance ; and 
that  fade  away  again  into  air  and  Invisibility  ? This  is  no 
metaphor,  it  is  a simple  scientific  fact ; we  start  out  of 
Nothingness,  take  figure,  and  are  Apparitions ; round  us,  as 
round  the  veriest  spectre,  is  Eternity ; and  to  Eternity 
minutes  are  as  years  and  aeons.  Come  there  not  tones  of  Love 
and  Faith,  as  from  celestial  harp-strings,  like  the  Song  of 
beatified  Souls?  And  again,  do  not  we  squeak  and  jibber 
(in  our  discordant,  screech-owlish  debatings  and  recriminat- 
ings) ; and  glide  bodeful,  and  feeble,  and  fearful ; or  uproar 
(polterri),  and  revel  in  our  mad  Dance  of  the  Dead, — till  the 
scent  of  the  morning  air  summons  us  to  our  still  Home ; and 
dreamy  Night  becomes  awake  and  Day  ? "Where  now  is 
Alexander  of  Macedon  : does  the  steel  Host,  that  yelled  in 
fierce  battle-shouts  at  Issus  and  Arbela,  remain  behind  him ; 
or  have  they  all  vanished  utterly,  even  as  perturbed  Goblins 
must  ? Napoleon  too,  and  his  Moscow  Retreats  and  Auster- 
litz  Campaigns  ! Was  it  all  other  than  the  veriest  Spectre- 
hunt  ; which  has  now,  with  its  howling  tumult  that  made 
Night  hideous,  flitted  away  ? — Ghosts  ! There  are  nigh  a 
thousand-million  walking  the  Earth  openly  at  noontide ; some 
half-hundred  have  vanished  from  it,  some  half-hundred  have 
arisen  in  it,  ere  thy  watch  ticks  once. 

‘ O Heaven,  it  is  mysterious,  it  is  awful  to  consider  that 
we  not  only  carry  each  a future  Ghost  within  Him ; but  are, 
in  very  deed,  Ghosts  ! These  Limbs,  whence  had  we  them ; 
this  stormy  Force  ; this  life-blood  with  its  burning  Passion  ? 


212 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  ill. 

They  are  dust  and  shadow ; a Shadow-system  gathered  round 
our  Me  ; wherein,  through  some  moments  or  years,  the  Divine 
Essence  is  to  be  revealed  in  the  Flesh.  That  warrior  on  his 
strong  war-horse,  fire  flashes  through  his  eyes ; force  dwells  in 
his  arm  and  heart : but  warrior  and  war-horse  are  a vision ; 
a revealed  Force,  nothing  more.  Stately  they  tread  the  Earth, 
as  if  it  were  a firm  substance  : fool  ! the  Earth  is  but  a film  ; 
it  cracks  in  twain,  and  warrior  and  war-horse  sink  beyond 
plummet’s  sounding.  Plummet’s  ? Fantasy  herself  will  not 
follow  them.  A little  while  ago,  they  were  not ; a little 
while,  and  they  are  not,  their  very  ashes  are  not. 

4 So  has  it  been  from  the  beginning,  so  will  it  be  to  the 
end.  Generation  after  generation  takes  to  itself  the  Form  of 
a Body  ; and  forth-issuing  from  Cimmerian  Night,  on  Pleaven’s 
mission  appears.  What  Force  and  Fire  is  in  each  he  expends  : 
one  grinding  in  the  mill  of  Industry ; one  hunter-like  climb- 
ing the  giddy  Alpine  heights  of  Science ; one  madly  dashed 
in  pieces  on  the  rocks  of  Strife,  in  war  with  his  fellow  : — and 
then  the  Heaven-sent  is  recalled ; his  earthly  Vesture  falls 
away,  and  soon  even  to  sense  becomes  a vanished  Shadow. 
Thus,  like  some  wild-flaming,  wild-thundering  train  of 
Heaven’s  Artillery,  does  this  mysterious  Mankind  thunder 
and  flame,  in  long-drawn,  quick-succeeding  grandeur,  through 
the  unknown  Deep.  Thus,  like  a God-created,  fire-breathing 
Spirit-host,  we  emerge  from  the  Inane  ; haste  stormfully  across 
the  astonished  Earth ; then  plunge  again  into  the  Inane. 
Earth’s  mountains  are  levelled,  and  her  seas  filled  up,  in  our 
passage : can  the  Earth,  which  is  but  dead  and  a vision, 
resist  Spirits  which  have  reality  and  are  alive  ? On  the 
hardest  adamant  some  footprint  of  us  is  stamped-in ; the  last 
Rear  of  the  host  will  read  traces  of  the  earliest  Van.  But 
whence  ? — O Heaven,  whither  ? Sense  knows  not ; Faith 
knows  not ; only  that  it  is  through  Mystery  to  Mystery,  from 
God  and  to  God. 

“ W e are  such  stuff 

As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  Life 

Is  rounded  with  a sleep  !”’ 


CHAP.  IX.]  CIRCUMSPECTIVE 


213 


CHAPTER  IX 
CIRCUMSPECTIVE 

Recapitulation.  Editor  congratulates  the  few  British  readers  who  have 
accompanied  Teufelsdrockh  through  all  his  speculations.  The  true  use  of 
the  Sartor  Resartus,  to  exhibit  the  "Wonder  of  daily  life  and  common 
things ; and  to  show  that  all  Forms  are  but  Clothes,  and  temporary.  Prac- 
tical inferences  enough  will  follow. 

Here,  then,  arises  the  so  momentous  question  : Have  many 
British  Readers  actually  arrived  with  us  at  the  new  promised 
country;  is  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes  now  at  last  opening 
around  them  ? Long  and  adventurous  has  the  journey  been  : 
from  those  outmost  vulgar,  palpable  Woollen  Hulls  of  Man; 
through  his  wondrous  Flesh-Garment,  and  his  wondrous  Social 
Garnitures  ; inwards  to  the  Garments  of  his  very  Soul’s  Soul, 
to  Time  and  Space  themselves  ! And  now  does  the  spiritual, 
eternal  Essence  of  Man,  and  of  Mankind,  bared  of  such 
wrappages,  begin  in  any  measure  to  reveal  itself?  Can  many 
readers  discern,  as  through  a glass  darkly,  in  huge  wavering 
outlines,  some  primeval  rudiments  of  Man’s  Being,  what  is 
changeable  divided  from  what  is  unchangeable?  Does  that 
Earth-Spirit’s  speech  in  Faust , — 

‘ Tis  thus  at  the  roaring  Loom  of  Time  I ply. 

And  weave  for  God  the  Garment  thou  see’st  Him  by  ’ ; 

or  that  other  thousand-times  repeated  speech  of  the  Magician, 
Shakspeare, — 

‘ And  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision. 

The  cloudcapt  Towers,  the  gorgeous  Palaces, 

The  solemn  Temples,  the  great  Globe  itself, 

And  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve ; 

And  like  this  unsubstantial  pageant  faded, 

Leave  not  a wrack  behind  ’ ; 

begin  to  have  some  meaning  for  us?  In  a word,  do  we  at 


214 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  hi. 

length  stand  safe  in  the  far  region  of  Poetic  Creation  and 
Palingenesia,  where  that  Phoenix  Death-Birth  of  Human 
Society,  and  of  all  Human  Things,  appears  possible,  is  seen 
to  be  inevitable  ? 

Along  this  most  insufficent,  unheard-of  Bridge,  which  the 
Editor,  by  Heaven’s  blessing,  has  now  seen  himself  enabled  to 
conclude  if  not  complete,  it  cannot  be  his  sober  calculation, 
but  only  his  fond  hope,  that  many  have  travelled  without 
accident.  No  firm  arch,  overspanning  the  Impassable  with 
paved  highway,  could  the  Editor  construct ; only,  as  was  said, 
some  zigzag  series  of  rafts  floating  tumultuously  thereon. 
Alas,  and  the  leaps  from  raft  to  raft,  were  too  often  of  a 
breakneck  character ; the  darkness,  the  nature  of  the  element, 
all  was  against  us  ! 

Nevertheless,  may  not  here  and  there  one  of  a thousand, 
provided  with  a discursiveness  of  intellect  rare  in  our  day,  have 
cleared  the  passage,  in  spite  of  all  ? Happy  few  ! little  band 
of  Friends  ! be  welcome,  be  of  courage.  By  degrees,  the  eye 
grows  accustomed  to  its  new  Whereabout ; the  hand  can 
stretch  itself  forth  to  work  there : it  is  in  this  grand  and 
indeed  highest  work  of  Palingenesia  that  ye  shall  labour,  each 
according  to  ability.  New  labourers  will  arrive  ; new  Bridges 
will  be  built ; nay,  may  not  our  own  poor  rope-and-raft 
Bridge,  in  your  passings  and  repassings,  be  mended  in  many 
a point,  till  it  grows  quite  firm,  passable  even  for  the 
halt  P 

Meanwhile,  of  the  innumerable  multitude  that  started  with 
us,  joyous  and  full  of  hope,  where  now  is  the  innumerable 
remainder,  whom  we  see  no  longer  by  our  side  ? The  most 
have  recoiled,  and  stand  gazing  afar  off,  in  unsympathetic 
astonishment,  at  our  career : not  a few,  pressing  forward  with 
more  courage,  have  missed  footing,  or  leaped  short ; and  now 
swim  weltering  in  the  Chaos-flood,  some  towards  this  shore, 
some  towards  that.  To  these  also  a helping  hand  should 
be  held  out ; at  least  some  word  of  encouragement  be 
said. 


215 


CHAP,  ix.]  CIRCUMSPECTIVE 

Or,  to  speak  without  metaphor,  with  which  mode  of  utter- 
ance Teufelsdrockh  unhappily  has  somewhat  infected  us, — can 
it  be  hidden  from  the  Editor  that  many  a British  reader  sits 
reading  quite  bewildered  in  head,  and  afflicted  rather  than 
instructed  by  the  present  Work  ? Yes,  long  ago  has  many 
a British  Reader  been,  as  now,  demanding  with  something 
like  a snarl : Whereto  does  all  this  lead ; or  what  use  is 
in  it  ? 

In  the  way  of  replenishing  thy  purse,  or  otherwise  aiding 
thy  digestive  faculty,  O British  Reader,  it  leads  to  nothing, 
and  there  is  no  use  in  it ; but  rather  the  reverse,  for  it  costs 
thee  somewhat.  Nevertheless,  if  through  this  unpromising 
Horn-gate,  Teufelsdrockh,  and  we  by  means  of  him,  have  led 
thee  into  the  true  Land  of  Dreams  ; and  through  the  Clothes- 
Screen,  as  through  a magical  Pierre-Pertuis,  thou  lookest,  even 
for  moments,  into  the  region  of  the  Wonderful,  and  seest  and 
feelest  that  thy  daily  life  is  girt  with  Wonder,  and  based  on 
Wonder,  and  thy  very  blankets  and  breeches  are  Miracles, — 
then  art  thou  profited  beyond  money’s  worth ; and  hast  a 
thankfulness  towards  our  Professor ; nay,  perhaps  in  many  a 
literary  Tea-circle  wilt  open  thy  kind  lips,  and  audibly  express 
that  same. 

Nay  further,  art  not  thou  too  perhaps  by  this  time  made 
aware  that  all  Symbols  are  properly  Clothes ; that  all  Forms 
whereby  Spirit  manifests  itself  to  sense,  whether  outwardly  or 
in  the  imagination,  are  Clothes ; and  thus  not  only  the  parch- 
ment Magna  Charta,  which  a Tailor  was  nigh  cutting  into 
measures,  but  the  Pomp  and  Authority  of  Law,  the  sacredness 
of  Majesty,  and  all  inferior  Worships  (Worthships)  are  properly 
a Vesture  and  Raiment ; and  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  them- 
selves are  articles  of  wearing-apparel  (for  the  Religious  Idea)  ? 
In  which  case,  must  it  not  also  be  admitted  that  this  Science 
of  Clothes  is  a high  one,  and  may  with  infinitely  deeper  study 
on  thy  part  yield  richer  fruit : that  it  takes  scientific  rank 
beside  Codification,  and  Political  Economy,  and  the  Theory  of 
the  British  Constitution  ; nay  rather,  from  its  prophetic  height 


216 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  ill. 

looks  down  on  all  these,  as  on  so  many  weaving-shops  and 
spinning-mills,  where  the  Vestures  which  it  has  to  fashion,  and 
consecrate  and  distribute,  are,  too  often  by  haggard  hungry 
operatives  who  see  no  farther  than  their  nose,  mechanically 
woven  and  spun  ? 

But  omitting  all  this,  much  more  all  that  concerns  Natural 
Supematuralism,  and  indeed  whatever  has  reference  to  the 
Ulterior  or  Transcendental  portion  of  the  Science,  or  bears 
never  so  remotely  on  that  promised  Volume  of  the  Palingenesie 
der  menscMichenGesellschaft  (Newbirth  of  Society), — we  humbly 
suggest  that  no  province  of  Clothes-Philosophy,  even  the 
lowest,  is  without  its  direct  value,  but  that  innumerable  infer- 
ences of  a practical  nature  may  be  drawn  therefrom.  To  say 
nothing  of  those  pregnant  considerations,  ethical,  political, 
symbolical,  which  crowd  on  the  Clothes-Philosopher  from  the 
very  threshold  of  his  Science ; nothing  even  of  those  ‘ archi- 
tectural ideas,1  which,  as  we  have  seen,  lurk  at  the  bottom  of 
all  Modes,  and  will  one  day,  better  unfolding  themselves,  lead 
to  important  revolutions, — let  us  glance  for  a moment,  and 
with  the  faintest  light  of  Clothes-Philosophy,  on  what  may  be 
called  the  Habilatory  Class  of  our  fellow-men.  Here  too  over- 
looking, where  so  much  were  to  be  looked  on,  the  million 
spinners,  weavers,  fullers,  dyers,  washers,  and  wringers,  that 
puddle  and  muddle  in  their  dark  recesses,  to  make  us  Clothes, 
and  die  that  we  may  live, — let  us  but  turn  the  reader’s  atten- 
tion upon  two  small  divisions  of  mankind,  who,  like  moths, 
may  be  regarded  as  Cloth-animals,  creatures  that  live,  move, 
and  have  their  being  in  Cloth  : we  mean,  Dandies  and  Tailors. 

In  regard  to  both  which  small  divisions  it  may  be  asserted 
without  scruple,  that  the  public  feeling,  unenlightened  by 
Philosophy,  is  at  fault ; and  even  that  the  dictates  of 
humanity  are  violated.  As  will  perhaps  abundantly  appear 
to  readers  of  the  two  following  Chapters. 


chap,  x.]  THE  DANDIACAL  BODY 


217 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  DANDIACAL  BODY 

The  Dandy  defined.  The  Dandiacal  Sect  a new  modification  of  the  primeval 
superstition  Self -worship  : How  to  be  distinguished.  Their  Sacred  Books 
(Fashionable  Novels)  unreadable.  Dandyism’s  Articles  of  Faith. — Brother- 
hood of  Poor-Slaves ; vowed  to  perpetual  Poverty ; worshippers  of  Earth  ; 
distinguished  by  peculiar  costume  and  diet.  Picture  of  a Poor-Slave 
Household;  and  of  a Dandiacal.  Teufelsdrockh  fears  these  two  Sects 
may  spread,  till  they  part  all  England  between  them,  and  then  frightfully 
collide. 

First,  touching  Dandies,  let  us  consider,  with  some  scientific 
strictness,  what  a Dandy  specially  is.  A Dandy  is  a Clothes- 
wearing  Man,  a Man  whose  trade,  office,  and  existence  consists 
in  the  wearing  of  Clothes.  Every  faculty  of  his  soul,  spirit, 
purse,  and  person  is  heroically  consecrated  to  this  one  object, 
the  wearing  of  Clothes  wisely  and  well : so  that  as  others 
dress  to  live,  he  lives  to  dress.  The  all-importance  of  Clothes, 
which  a German  Professor,  of  unequalled  learning  and  acumen, 
writes  his  enormous  Volume  to  demonstrate,  has  sprung  up  in 
the  intellect  of  the  Dandy  without  effort,  like  an  instinct  of 
genius ; he  is  inspired  with  Cloth,  a Poet  of  Cloth.  What 
Teufelsdrockh  would  call  a ‘ Divine  Idea  of  Cloth  1 is  born 
■with  him ; and  this,  like  other  such  Ideas,  will  express  itself 
outwardly,  or  wring  his  heart  asunder  with  unutterable  throes. 

But,  like  a generous,  creative  enthusiast,  he  fearlessly 
makes  his  Idea  an  Action  ; shows  himself  in  peculiar  guise  to 
mankind ; walks  forth,  a witness  and  living  Martyr  to  the 
eternal  world  of  Clothes.  We  called  him  a Poet : is  not  his 
body  the  (stuffed)  parchment-skin  whereon  he  writes,  with 
cunning  Huddersfield  dyes,  a Sonnet  to  his  mistress’  eyebrow  ? 
Say,  rather,  an  Epos,  and  Clotha  Virumque  cano,  to  the  whole 
world,  in  Macaronic  verses,  which  he  that  runs  may  read. 
Nay,  if  you  grant,  what  seems  to  be  admissible,  that  the 
Dandy  has  a Thinking-principle  in  him,  and  some  notions  of 


218 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  ill. 

Time  and  Space,  is  there  not  in  this  Life-devotedness  to 
Cloth,  in  this  so  willing  sacrifice  of  the  Immortal  to  the 
Perishable,  something  (though  in  reverse  order)  of  that  blend- 
ing and  identification  of  Eternity  with  Time,  which,  as  we 
have  seen,  constitutes  the  Prophetic  character  ? 

And  now,  for  all  this  perennial  Martyrdom,  and  Poesy,  and 
even  Prophecy,  what  is  it  that  the  Dandy  asks  in  return? 
Solely,  we  may  say,  that  you  would  recognise  his  existence ; 
would  admit  him  to  be  a living  object ; or  even  failing  this,  a 
visual  object,  or  thing  that  will  reflect  rays  of  light.  Your 
silver  or  your  gold  (beyond  what  the  niggardly  Law  has 
already  secured  him)  he  solicits  not ; simply  the  glance  of 
your  eyes.  Understand  his  mystic  significance,  or  altogether 
miss  and  misinterpret  it ; do  but  look  at  him,  and  he  is 
contented.  May  we  not  well  cry  shame  on  an  ungrateful 
world,  which  refuses  even  this  poor  boon ; which  will  waste 
its  optic  faculty  on  dried  Crocodiles,  and  Siamese  Twins ; and 
over  the  domestic  wonderful  wonder  of  wonders,  a live  Dandy, 
glance  with  hasty  indifference,  and  a scarcely  concealed  con- 
tempt ! Him  no  Zoologist  classes  among  the  Mammalia,  no 
Anatomist  dissects  with  care : when  did  we  see  any  injected 
Preparation  of  the  Dandy  in  our  Museums  ; any  specimen  of 
him  preserved  in  spirits  ? Lord  Herringbone  may  dress 
himself  in  a snuff-brown  suit,  with  snuff-brown  shirt  and 
shoes  : it  skills  not ; the  undiscerning  public,  occupied  with 
grosser  wants,  passes  by  regardless  on  the  other  side. 

The  age  of  Curiosity,  like  that  of  Chivalry,  is  indeed, 
properly  speaking,  gone.  Yet  perhaps  only  gone  to  sleep  : 
for  here  arises  the  Clothes-Philosophy  to  resuscitate,  strangely 
enough,  both  the  one  and  the  other  ! Should  sound  views  of 
this  Science  come  to  prevail,  the  essential  nature  of  the 
British  Dandy,  and  the  mystic  significance  that  lies  in  him, 
cannot  always  remain  hidden  under  laughable  and  lamentable 
hallucination.  The  following  long  Extract  from  Professor 
Teufelsdrockh  may  set  the  matter,  if  not  in  its  true  light,  yet 
in  the  way  towards  such.  It  is  to  be  regretted,  however,  that 


219 


CHAP,  x.]  THE  DANDIACAL  BODY 

here,  as  so  often  elsewhere,  the  Professor’s  keen  philosophic 
perspicacity  is  somewhat  marred  by  a certain  mixture  of 
almost  owlish  purblindness,  or  else  of  some  perverse,  ineffec- 
tual, ironic  tendency ; our  readers  shall  judge  which  : 

£ In  these  distracted  times,’  mites  he,  ‘ when  the  Religious 
Principle,  driven  out  of  most  Churches,  either  lies  unseen  in 
the  hearts  of  good  men,  looking  and  longing  and  silently 
working  there  towards  some  new  Revelation ; or  else  wanders 
homeless  over  the  world,  like  a disembodied  soul  seeking  its 
terrestrial  organisation, — into  how  many  strange  shapes,  of 
Superstition  and  Fanaticism,  does  it  not  tentatively  and 
errantly  cast  itself ! The  higher  Enthusiasm  of  man’s  nature 
is  for  the  while  without  Exponent ; yet  does  it  continue  inde- 
structible, unweariedly  active,  and  work  blindly  in  the  great 
chaotic  deep : thus  Sect  after  Sect,  and  Church  after  Church, 
bodies  itself  forth,  and  melts  again  into  new  metamorphosis. 

‘ Chiefly  is  this  observable  in  England,  which,  as  the 
wealthiest  and  worst-instructed  of  European  nations,  offers 
precisely  the  elements  (of  Heat,  namely,  and  of  Darkness),  in 
which  such  moon-calves  and  monstrosities  are  best  generated. 
Among  the  newer  Sects  of  that  country,  one  of  the  most 
notable,  and  closely  connected  with  our  present  subject,  is 
that  of  the  Dandies ; concerning  which,  what  little  informa- 
tion I have  been  able  to  procure  may  fitly  stand  here. 

4 It  is  true,  certain  of  the  English  Journalists,  men  gener- 
ally without  sense  for  the  Religious  Principle,  or  judgment  for 
its  manifestations,  speak,  in  their  brief  enigmatic  notices,  as  if 
this  were  perhaps  rather  a Secular  Sect,  and  not  a Religious 
one ; nevertheless,  to  the  psychologic  eye  its  devotional  and 
even  sacrificial  character  plainly  enough  reveals  itself.  Whether 
it  belongs  to  the  class  of  Petich- worships,  or  of  Hero-worships 
or  Polytheisms,  or  to  what  other  class,  may  in  the  present 
state  of  our  intelligence  remain  undecided  ( schweben ).  A 
certain  touch  of  Manicheism,  not  indeed  in  the  Gnostic  shape, 
is  discernible  enough : also  (for  human  Error  walks  in  a cycle, 


220 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  in. 

and  reappears  at  intervals)  a not-inconsiderable  resemblance  to 
that  Superstition  of  the  Athos  Monks,  who  by  fasting  from  all 
nourishment,  and  looking  intensely  for  a length  of  time  into 
their  own  navels,  came  to  discern  therein  the  true  Apocalypse 
of  Nature,  and  Heaven  Unveiled.  To  my  own  surmise,  it 
appears  as  if  this  Dandiacal  Sect  were  but  a new  modification, 
adapted  to  the  new  time,  of  that  primeval  Superstition,  Self- 
worship  ; which  Zerdusht,  Quangfoutchee,  Mohamed,  and 
others,  strove  rather  to  subordinate  and  restrain  than  to  eradi- 
cate, and  which  only  in  the  purer  forms  of  Religion  has  been 
altogether  rejected.  Wherefore,  if  any  one  chooses  to  name  it 
revived  Ahrimanism,  or  a new  figure  of  Demon-worship,  I 
have,  so  far  as  is  yet  visible,  no  objection. 

‘ For  the  rest,  these  people,  animated  with  the  zeal  of  a new 
Sect,  display  courage  and  perseverance,  and  what  force  there 
is  in  man’s  nature,  though  never  so  enslaved.  They  affect 
great  purity  and  separatism  ; distinguish  themselves  by  a par- 
ticular costume  (whereof  some  notices  were  given  in  the  earlier 
part  of  this  Volume)  ; likewise,  so  far  as  possible,  by  a par- 
ticular speech  (apparently  some  broken  Lingua-franca , or 
English-French)  ; and,  on  the  whole,  strive  to  maintain  a true 
Nazarene  deportment,  and  keep  themselves  unspotted  from  the 
world. 

‘ They  have  their  Temples,  whereof  the  chief,  as  the  Jewish 
Temple  did,  stands  in  their  metropolis  ; and  is  named  Almack's , 
a word  of  uncertain  etymology.  They  worship  principally  by 
night ; and  have  their  Highpriests  and  Highpriestesses,  who, 
however,  do  not  continue  for  life.  The  rites,  by  some  sup- 
posed to  be  of  the  Menadic  sort,  or  perhaps  with  an  Eleu- 
sinian  or  Cabiric  character,  are  held  strictly  secret.  Nor  are 
Sacred  Books  wanting  to  the  Sect ; these  they  call  Fashion- 
able Novels  : however,  the  Canon  is  not  completed,  and  some 
are  canonical  and  others  not. 

£ Of  such  Sacred  Books  I,  not  without  expense,  procured 
myself  some  samples  ; and  in  hope  of  true  insight,  and  with 
the  zeal  which  beseems  an  Inquirer  into  Clothes,  set  to  inter- 


221 


chap.  X.]  THE  DANDIACAL  BODY 

pret  and  study  them.  But  wholly  to  no  purpose  : that  tough 
faculty  of  reading,  for  which  the  world  will  not  refuse  me 
credit,  was  here  for  the  first  time  foiled  and  set  at  naught. 
In  vain  that  I summoned  my  whole  energies  ( [mich  weidlich  an- 
strengte ),  and  did  my  very  utmost ; at  the  end  of  some  short 
space,  I was  uniformly  seized  with  not  so  much  what  I can 
call  a drumming  in  my  ears,  as  a kind  of  infinite,  unsufferable, 
Jew’s  harping  and  scrannel-piping  there ; to  which  the  fright- 
fullest  species  of  Magnetic  Sleep  soon  supervened.  And  if  I 
strove  to  shake  this  away,  and  absolutely  would  not  yield, 
there  came  a hitherto  unfelt  sensation,  as  of  Delirium  Tre- 
mens, and  a melting  into  total  deliquium  : till  at  last,  by  order 
of  the  Doctor,  dreading  ruin  to  my  whole  intellectual  and 
bodily  faculties,  and  a general  breaking-up  of  the  constitution, 
I reluctantly  but  determinedly  forbore.  Was  there  some 
miracle  at  work  here ; like  those  Fire-balls,  and  supernal  and 
infernal  prodigies,  which,  in  the  case  of  the  Jewish  Mysteries, 
have  also  more  than  once  scared-back  the  Alien  ? Be  this  as 
it  may,  such  failure  on  my  part,  after  best  efforts,  must  excuse 
the  imperfection  of  this  sketch  ; altogether  incomplete,  yet  the 
completest  I could  give  of  a Sect  too  singular  to  be  omitted. 

‘ Loving  my  own  life  and  senses  as  I do,  no  power  shall  in- 
duce me,  as  a private  individval,  to  open  another  Fashionable 
Novel.  But  luckily,  in  this  dilemma,  comes  a hand  from  the 
clouds  ; whereby  if  not  victory,  deliverance  is  held  out  to  me. 
Round  one  of  those  Book-packages,  which  the  Stillschweig- 
ensche  Buchhandlung  is  in  the  habit  of  importing  from  Eng- 
land, come,  as  is  usual,  various  waste  printed-sheets  ( Macu - 
latur-blatter),  by  way  of  interior  wrappage  : into  these  the 
Clothes-Philosopher,  with  a certain  Mohamedan  reverence  even 
for  waste-paper,  where  curious  knowledge  will  sometimes  hover, 
disdains  not  to  cast  his  eye.  Readers  may  judge  of  his  aston- 
ishment when  on  such  a defaced  stray-sheet,  probably  the  out- 
cast fraction  of  some  English  Periodical,  such  as  they  name 
Magazine,  appears  something  like  a Dissertation  on  this  very 
subject  of  Fashionable  Novels  ! It  sets  out,  indeed,  chiefly 


222  SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  hi. 

from  a Secular  point  of  view  ; directing  itself,  not  without 
asperity,  against  some  to  me  unknown  individual  named  Pel- 
ham, who  seems  to  be  a Mystagogue,  and  leading  Teacher  and 
Preacher  of  the  Sect ; so  that,  what  indeed  otherwise  was  not 
to  be  expected  in  such  a fugitive  fragmentary  sheet,  the  true 
secret,  the  Religious  physiognomy  and  physiology  of  the  Dan- 
diacal Body,  is  nowise  laid  fully  open  there.  Nevertheless, 
scattered  lights  do  from  time  to  time  sparkle  out,  whereby  I 
have  endeavoured  to  profit.  Nay,  in  one  passage  selected 
from  the  Prophecies,  or  Mythic  Theogonies,  or  whatever  they 
are  (for  the  style  seems  very  mixed)  of  this  Mystagogue,  I find 
what  appears  to  be  a Confession  of  Faith,  or  Whole  Duty  of 
Man,  according  to  the  tenets  of  that  Sect.  Which  Confession 
or  Whole  Duty,  therefore,  as  proceeding  from  a source  so 
authentic,  I shall  here  arrange  under  Seven  distinct  Articles, 
and  in  very  abridged  shape  lay  before  the  German  world ; 
therewith  taking  leave  of  this  matter.  Observe  also,  that  to 
avoid  possibility  of  error,  I,  as  far  as  may  be,  quote  literally 
from  the  Original : 

‘ ARTICLES  OF  FAITH. 

“ 1.  Coats  should  have  nothing  of  the  triangle  about 
them ; at  the  same  time,  wrinkles  behind  should  be  carefully 
avoided. 

“ 2.  The  collar  is  a very  important  point : it  should  be 
low  behind,  and  slightly  rolled. 

“ 3.  No  licence  of  fashion  can  allow  a man  of  delicate 
taste  to  adopt  the  posterial  luxuriance  of  a Hottentot. 

“ 4.  There  is  safety  in  a swallow-tail. 

“ 5.  The  good  sense  of  a gentleman  is  nowhere  more  finely 
developed  than  in  his  rings. 

“ 6.  It  is  permitted  to  mankind,  under  certain  restrictions, 
to  wear  white  waistcoats. 

“ 7.  The  trousers  must  be  exceedingly  tight  across  the  hips.” 

4 All  which  Propositions  I,  for  the  present,  content  myself 
with  modestly  but  peremptorily  and  irrevocably  denying. 


223 


chap,  x.]  THE  DANDIACAL  BODY 

‘In  strange  contrast  with  this  Dandiacal  Body  stands 
another  British  Sect,  originally,  as  I understand,  of  Ireland, 
where  its  chief  seat  still  is ; but  known  also  in  the  main 
Island,  and  indeed  everywhere  rapidly  spreading.  As  this 
Sect  has  hitherto  emitted  no  Canonical  Books,  it  remains  to 
me  in  the  same  state  of  obscurity  as  the  Dandiacal,  which  has 
published  Books  that  the  unassisted  human  faculties  are 
inadequate  to  read.  The  members  appear  to  be  designated 
by  a considerable  diversity  of  names,  according  to  their  various 
places  of  establishment : in  England  they  are  generally  called 
the  Drudge  Sect ; also,  unphilosophically  enough,  the  White 
Negroes ; and,  chiefly  in  scorn  by  those  of  other  communions, 
the  Ragged-Beggar  Sect.  In  Scotland,  again,  I find  them 
entitled  Hallanshakers,  or  the  Stook  of  Duds  Sect ; any 
individual  communicant  is  named  Stook  of  Duds  (that  is, 
Shock  of  Rags),  in  allusion,  doubtless,  to  their  professional 
Costume.  While  in  Ireland,  which,  as  mentioned,  is  their 
grand  parent  hive,  they  go  by  a perplexing  multiplicity  of 
designations,  such  as  Bogtrotters,  Redshanks,  Ribbonmen, 
Cottiers,  Peep-of-Day  Boys,  Babes  of  the  Wood,  Rockites , 
Poor-Slaves : which  last,  however,  seems  to  be  the  primary 
and  generic  name ; whereto,  probably  enough,  the  others  are 
only  subsidiary  species,  or  slight  varieties ; or,  at  most,  pro- 
pagated offsets  from  the  parent  stem,  whose  minute  sub- 
divisions, and  shades  of  difference,  it  were  here  loss  of  time  to 
dwell  on.  Enough  for  us  to  understand,  what  seems  indubit- 
able, that  the  original  Sect  is  that  of  the  Poor-Slaves ; whose 
doctrines,  practices,  and  fundamental  characteristics  pervade 
and  animate  the  whole  Body,  howsoever  denominated  or  out- 
wardly diversified. 

‘ The  precise  speculative  tenets  of  this  Brotherhood : how 
the  Universe,  and  Man,  and  Man’s  Life,  picture  themselves 
to  the  mind  of  an  Irish  Poor-Slave ; with  what  feelings  and 
opinions  he  looks  forward  on  the  Future,  round  on  the 
Present,  back  on  the  Past,  it  were  extremely  difficult  to 
specify.  Something  Monastic  there  appears  to  be  in  their 


224 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  in. 

Constitution  : we  find  them  bound  by  the  two  Monastic  Vows, 
of  Poverty  and  Obedience ; which  Vows,  especially  the  former, 
it  is  said,  they  observe  with  great  strictness ; nay,  as  I have 
understood  it,  they  are  pledged,  and  be  it  by  any  solemn 
Nazarene  ordination  or  not,  irrevocably  consecrated  thereto, 
even  before  birth.  That  the  third  Monastic  Vow,  of  Chastity, 
is  rigidly  enforced  among  them,  I find  no  ground  to  con- 
jecture. 

4 Furthermore,  they  appear  to  imitate  the  Dandiacal  Sect 
in  their  grand  principle  of  wearing  a peculiar  Costume.  Of 
which  Irish  Poor-Slave  Costume  no  description  will  indeed  be 
found  in  the  present  Volume ; for  this  reason,  that  by  the 
imperfect  organ  of  Language  it  did  not  seem  describable. 
Their  raiment  consists  of  innumerable  skirts,  lappets  and 
irregular  wings,  of  all  cloths  and  of  all  colours ; through  the 
labyrinthic  intricacies  of  which  their  bodies  are  introduced  by 
some  unknown  process.  It  is  fastened  together  by  a multiplex 
combination  of  buttons,  thrums,  and  skewers ; to  which 
frequently  is  added  a girdle  of  leather,  of  hempen  or  even  of 
straw  rope,  round  the  loins.  To  straw  rope,  indeed,  they 
seem  partial,  and  often  wear  it  by  way  of  sandals.  In  head- 
dress they  affect  a certain  freedom  : hats  with  partial  brim, 
without  crown,  or  with  only  a loose,  hinged,  or  valved  crown ; 
in  the  former  case,  they  sometimes  invert  the  hat,  and  wear  it 
brim  uppermost,  like  a University-cap,  with  what  view  is 
unknown. 

4 The  name  Poor-Slaves'seems  to  indicate  a Slavonic,  Polish, 
or  Russian  origin  : not  so,  however,  the  interior  essence  and 
spirit  of  their  Superstition,  which  rather  displays  a Teutonic 
or  Druidical  character.  One  might  fancy  them  worshippers 
of  Hertha,  or  the  Earth : for  they  dig  and  affectionately  work 
continually  in  her  bosom  ; or  else,  shut-up  in  private  Oratories, 
meditate  and  manipulate  the  substances  derived  from  her ; 
seldom  looking-up  towards  the  Heavenly  Luminaries,  and  then 
with  comparative  indifference.  Like  the  Druids,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  live  in  dark  dwellings ; often  even  breaking  their 


225 


chap,  x.]  THE  DANDIACAL  BODY 

glass-windows,  where  they  find  such,  and  stuffing  them  up  with 
pieces  of  raiment,  or  other  opaque  substances,  till  the  fit 
obscurity  is  restored.  Again,  like  all  followers  of  Nature- 
Worship,  they  are  liable  to  outbreakings  of  an  enthusiasm 
rising  to  ferocity ; and  burn  men,  if  not  in  wicker  idols,  yet 
in  sod  cottages. 

4 In  respect  of  diet,  they  have  also  their  observances.  All 
Poor-Slaves  are  Rhizophagous  (or  Root-eaters) ; a few  are 
Ichthyophagous,  and  use  Salted  Herrings  : other  animal  food 
they  abstain  from ; except  indeed,  with  perhaps  some  strange 
inverted  fragment  of  a Brahminieal  feeling,  such  animals  as 
die  a natural  death.  Their  universal  sustenance  is  the  root 
named  Potato,  cooked  by  fire  alone ; and  generally  without 
condiment  or  relish  of  any  kind,  save  an  unknown  condiment 
named  Point,  into  the  meaning  of  which  I have  vainly  inquired  ; 
the  victual  Potatoes-and-Point  not  appearing,  at  least  not  with 
specific  accuracy  of  description,  in  any  European  Cookery-Book 
whatever.  For  drink,  they  use,  with  an  almost  epigrammatic 
counterpoise  of  taste,  Milk,  which  is  the  mildest  of  liquors, 
and  Potheen,  which  is  the  fiercest.  This  latter  I have  tasted, 
as  well  as  the  English  Blue-Ruin,  and  the  Scotch  Whisky, 
analogous  fluids  used  by  the  Sect  in  those  countries : it 
evidently  contains  some  form  of  alcohol,  in  the  highest  state 
of  concentration,  though  disguised  with  acrid  oils  ; and  is,  on 
the  whole,  the  most  pungent  substance  known  to  me, — indeed, 
a perfect  liquid  fire.  In  all  their  Religious  Solemnities, 
Potheen  is  said  to  be  an  indispensable  requisite,  and  largely 
consumed. 

‘An  Irish  Traveller,  of  perhaps  common  veracity,  who 
presents  himself  under  the  to  me  unmeaning  title  of  The  late 
John  Bernard,  offers  the  following  sketch  of  a domestic 
establishment,  the  inmates  whereof,  though  such  is  not  stated 
expressly,  appear  to  have  been  of  that  Faith.  Thereby  shall 
my  German  readers  now  behold  an  Irish  Poor-Slave,  as  it  were 
with  their  own  eyes ; and  even  see  him  at  meat.  Moreover, 
in  the  so  precious  waste-paper  sheet  above  • mentioned,  I have 

p 


226 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  hi. 

found  some  corresponding  picture  of  a Dandiacal  Household, 
painted  by  that  same  Dandiacal  Mystagogue,  or  Theogonist : 
this  also,  by  way  of  counterpart  and  contrast,  the  world  shall 
look  into. 

‘First,  therefore,  of  the  Poor-Slave,  who  appears  likewise  to 
have  been  a species  of  Innkeeper.  I quote  from  the  original : 

Poor-Slave  Household. 

‘ “ The  furniture  of  this  Caravansera  consisted  of  a large 
iron  Pot,  two  oaken  Tables,  two  Benches,  two  Chairs,  and  a 
Potheen  Noggin.  There  was  a Loft  above  (attainable  by  a 
ladder), "upon  which  the  inmates  slept ; and  the  space  below 
was  divided  by  a hurdle  into  two  Apartments ; the  one  for 
their  cow  and  pig,  the  other  for  themselves  and  guests.  On 
entering  the  house  we  discovered  the  family,  eleven  in  number, 
at  dinner : the  father  sitting  at  the  top,  the  mother  at  the 
bottom,  the  children  on  each  side,  of  a large  oaken  Board, 
which  was  scooped-out  in  the  middle,  like  a trough,  to  receive 
the  contents  of  their  Pot  of  Potatoes.  Little  holes  were  cut 
at  equal  distances  to  contain  Salt ; and  a bowl  of  Milk  stood 
on  the  table  : all  the  luxuries  of  meat  and  beer,  bread,  knives 
and  dishes  were  dispensed  with.'”  The  Poor-Slave  himself 
our  Traveller  found,  as  he  says,  broad-backed,  black-browed, 
of  great  personal  strength,  and  mouth  from  ear  to  ear.  His 
Wife  was  a sun-browned  but  well-featured  woman ; and  his 
young  ones,  bare  and  chubby,  had  the  appetite  of  ravens.  Of 
their  Philosophical  or  Religious  tenets  or  observances,  no 
notice  or  hint. 

‘ But  now,  secondly,  of  the  Dandiacal  Household  ; in  which, 
truly,  that  often-mentioned  Mystagogue  and  inspired  Pen- 
man himself  has  his  abode  : 

Dandiacal  Household. 

‘ “ A Dressing-room  splendidly  furnished  ; violet-coloured 
curtains,  chairs  and  ottomans  of  the  same  hue.  Two  full- 


227 


CHAP.  X.]  THE  DANDIACAL  BODY 

length  Mirrors  are  placed,  one  on  each  side  of  a table,  which 
supports  the  luxuries  of  the  Toilet.  Several  Bottles  of  Per- 
fumes, arranged  in  a peculiar  fashion,  stand  upon  a smaller 
table  of  mother-of-pearl : opposite  to  these  are  placed  the 
appurtenances  of  Lavation  richly  wrought  in  frosted  silver.  A 
Wardrobe  of  Buhl  is  on  the  left ; the  doors  of  which,  being 
partly  open,  discover  a profusion  of  Clothes ; Shoes  of  a 
singularly  small  size  monopolise  the  lower  shelves.  Fronting 
the  wardrobe  a door  ajar  gives  some  slight  glimpse  of  a Bath- 
room. Folding-doors  in  the  background. — Enter  the  Author,” 
our  Theogonist  in  person,  “ obsequiously  preceded  by  a 
French  Yalet,  in  white  silk  Jacket  and  cambric  Apron.” 

‘ Such  are  the  two  Sects  which,  at  this  moment,  divide  the 
more  unsettled  portion  of  the  British  People ; and  agitate 
that  ever-vexed  country.  To  the  eye  of  the  political  Seer, 
their  mutual  relation,  pregnant  with  the  elements  of  discord 
and  hostility,  is  far  from  consoling.  These  two  principles  of 
Dandiacal  Self-worship  or  Demon-worship,  and  Poor-Slavish 
or  Drudgical  Earth- worship,  or  whatever  that  same  Drudgism 
may  be,  do  as  yet  indeed  manifest  themselves  under  distant 
and  nowise  considerable  shapes : nevertheless,  in  their  roots 
and  subterranean  ramifications,  they  extend  through  the  entire 
structure  of  Society,  and  work  unweariedly  in  the  secret  depths 
of  English  national  Existence  ; striving  to  separate  and  isolate 
it  into  two  contradictory,  uncommunicating  masses. 

4 In  numbers,  and  even  individual  strength,  the  Poor-Slaves 
or  Drudges,  it  would  seem,  are  hourly  increasing.  The  Dan- 
diacal, again,  is  by  nature  no  proselytising  Sect ; but  it  boasts 
of  great  hereditary  resources,  and  is  strong  by  union  ; whereas 
the  Drudges,  split  into  parties,  have  as  yet  no  rallying-point ; 
or  at  best  only  cooperate  by  means  of  partial  secret  affilia- 
tions. If,  indeed,  there  were  to  arise  a Communion  of  Drudges, 
as  there  is  already  a Communion  of  Saints,  what  strangest 
effects  would  follow  therefrom  ! Dandyism  as  yet  affects  to 
look-down  on  Drudgism : but  perhaps  the  hour  of  trial,  when 


228 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  in. 

it  will  be  practically  seen  which  ought  to  look  down,  and 
which  up,  is  not  so  distant. 

‘ To  me  it  seems  probable  that  the  two  Sects  will  one  day 
part  England  between  them ; each  recruiting  itself  from  the 
intermediate  ranks,  till  there  be  none  left  to  enlist  on  either 
side.  Those  Dandiacal  Manicheans,  with  the  host  of  Dandy- 
ising  Christians,  will  form  one  body : the  Drudges,  gathering 
round  them  whosoever  is  Drudgical,  be  he  Christian  or  Infidel 
Pagan  ; sweeping-up  likewise  all  manner  of  Utilitarians,  Radi- 
cals, refractory  Potwallopers,  and  so  forth,  into  their  general 
mass,  will  form  another.  I could  liken  Dandyism  and  Drudg- 
ism  to  two  bottomless  boiling  Whirlpools  that  had  broken- 
out  on  opposite  quarters  of  the  firm  land : as  yet  they  appear 
only  disquieted,  foolishly  bubbling  wells,  which  man’s  art  might 
cover-in ; yet  mark  them,  their  diameter  is  daily  widening : 
they  are  hollow  Cones  that  boil-up  from  the  infinite  Deep, 
over  which  your  firm  land  is  but  a thin  crust  or  rind  ! Thus 
daily  is  the  intermediate  land  crumbling-in,  daily  the  empire 
of  the  two  Buchan-Bullers  extending ; till  now  there  is  but  a 
foot-plank,  a mere  film  of  Land  between  them ; this  too  is 
washed  away : and  then — we  have  the  true  Hell  of  Waters, 
and  Noah’s  Deluge  is  outdeluged  ! 

‘ Or  better,  I might  call  them  two  boundless,  and  indeed 
unexampled  Electric  Machines  (turned  by  the  “ Machinery  of 
Society  ”),  with  batteries  of  opposite  quality ; Drudgism  the 
Negative,  Dandyism  the  Positive : one  attracts  hourly  towards 
it  and  appropriates  all  the  Positive  Electricity  of  the  nation 
(namely,  the  Money  thereof) ; the  other  is  equally  busy  with 
the  Negative  (that  is  to  say  the  Hunger),  which  is  equally 
potent.  Hitherto  you  see  only  partial  transient  sparkles  and 
sputters  : but  wait  a little,  till  the  entire  nation  is  in  an  elec- 
tric state ; till  your  whole  vital  Electricity,  no  longer  health- 
fully Neutral,  is  cut  into  two  isolated  portions  of  Positive  and 
Negative  (of  Money  and  of  Hunger) ; and  stands  there 
bottled-up  in  two  World-Batteries ! The  stirring  of  a child’s 
finger  brings  the  two  together ; and  then — What  then  ? The 


TAILORS 


229 


CHAP.  XI.] 


Earth  is  but  shivered  into  impalpable  smoke  by  that  Doom’s- 
thunderpeal ; the  Sun  misses  one  of  his  Planets  in  Space,  and 
thenceforth  there  are  no  eclipses  of  the  Moon. — Or  better 
still,  I might  liken 1 

O,  enough,  enough  of  likenings  and  similitudes ; in  excess 
of  which,  truly,  it  is  hard  to  say  whether  Teufelsdrockh  or 
ourselves  sin  the  more. 

We  have  often  blamed  him  for  a habit  of  wire-drawing  and 
over-refining ; from  of  old  we  have  been  familiar  with  his 
tendency  to  Mysticism  and  Religiosity,  whereby  in  everything 
he  was  still  scenting-out  Religion : but  never  perhaps  did 
these  amaurosis-suffusions  so  cloud  and  distort  his  otherwise 
most  piercing  vision,  as  in  this  of  the  Dandiacal  Body  ! Or 
was  there  something  of  intended  satire ; is  the  Professor  and 
Seer  not  quite  the  blinkard  he  affects  to  be  ? Of  an  ordinary 
mortal  we  should  have  decisively  answered  in  the  affirmative ; 
but  with  a Teufelsdrockh  there  ever  hovers  some  shade  of 
doubt.  In  the  meanwhile,  if  satire  were  actually  intended, 
the  case  is  little  better.  There  are  not  wanting  men  who 
will  answer : Does  your  Professor  take  us  for  simpletons  ? 
His  irony  has  overshot  itself ; we  see  through  it,  and  perhaps 
through  him. 


CHAPTER  XI 
TAILORS 

Injustice  done  to  Tailors,  actual  and  metaphorical.  Their  rights  and  great 
services  will  one  day  be  duly  recognised. 

Thus,  however,  has  our  first  Practical  Inference  from  the 
Clothes-Philosophy,  that  which  respects  Dandies,  been  suffi- 
ciently drawn ; and  we  come  now  to  the  second,  concerning 
Tailors.  On  this  latter  our  opinion  happily  quite  coincides 
with  that  of  Teufelsdrockh  himself,  as  expressed  in  the  con- 
cluding page  of  his  Volume,  to  whom,  therefore,  we  willingly 


230  SARTOR  RESARTUS  [BOOK  HI. 

give  place.  Let  him  speak  his  own  last  words,  in  his  own 
way : 

‘ Upwards  of  a century,’  says  he,  c must  elapse,  and  still  the 
bleeding  fight  of  Freedom  be  fought,  whoso  is  noblest  perish- 
ing in  the  van,  and  thrones  be  hurled  on  altars  like  Pelion  on 
Ossa,  and  the  Moloch  of  Iniquity  have  his  victims,  and  the 
Michael  of  Justice  his  martyrs,  before  Tailors  can  be  admitted 
to  their  true  prerogatives  of  manhood,  and  this  last  wound  of 
suffering  Humanity  be  closed. 

‘ If  aught  in  the  history  of  the  world’s  blindness  could 
surprise  us,  here  might  we  indeed  pause  and  wonder.  An 
idea  has  gone  abroad,  and  fixed  itself  down  into  a wide- 
spreading  rooted  error,  that  Tailors  are  a distinct  species  in 
Physiology,  not  Men,  but  fractional  Parts  of  a Man.  Call 
any  one  a Schneider  (Cutter,  Tailor),  is  it  not,  in  our  dislo- 
cated, hoodwinked,  and  indeed  delirious  condition  of  Society, 
equivalent  to  defying  his  perpetual  fellest  enmity  ? The 
epithet  schneidermassig  (tailor-like)  betokens  an  otherwise  un- 
approachable degree  of  pusillanimity  : we  introduce  a Tailor 's- 
Melancholy,  more  opprobrious  than  any  Leprosy,  into  our 
Books  of  Medicine ; and  fable  I know  not  what  of  his  gene- 
rating it  by  living  on  Cabbage.  Why  should  I speak  of 
Hans  Sachs  (himself  a Shoemaker,  or  kind  of  Leather-Tailor), 
with  his  Schneider  mit  dem  Panier  ? Why  of  Shakspeare,  in 
his  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  and  elsewhere  ? Does  it  not  stand 
on  record  that  the  English  Queen  Elizabeth,  receiving  a 
deputation  of  Eighteen  Tailors,  addressed  them  with  a 
“ Good  -morning,  gentlemen  both!”  Did  not  the  same 
virago  boast  that  she  had  a Cavalry  Regiment,  whereof 
neither  horse  nor  man  could  be  injured ; her  Regiment, 
namely,  of  Tailors  on  Mares  ? Thus  everywhere  is  the  false- 
hood taken  for  granted,  and  acted  on  as  an  indisputable  fact. 

‘ Nevertheless,  need  I put  the  question  to  any  Physiologist, 
whether  it  is  disputable  or  not  ? Seems  it  not  at  least  pre- 
sumable, that,  under  his  Clothes,  the  Tailor  has  bones  and 


TAILORS 


231 


CHAP.  XI.] 

viscera,  and  other  muscles  than  the  sartorious  ? Which 
function  of  manhood  is  the  Tailor  not  conjectured  to 
perform  ? Can  he  not  arrest  for  debt  ? Is  he  not  in  most 
countries  a tax-paying  animal  ? 

£ To  no  reader  of  this  Volume  can  it  be  doubtful  which 
conviction  is  mine.  Nay  if  the  fruit  of  these  long  vigils,  and 
almost  preternatural  Inquiries,  is  not  to  perish  utterly,  the 
world  will  have  approximated  towards  a higher  Truth ; and 
the  doctrine,  which  Swift,  with  the  keen  forecast  of  genius, 
dimly  anticipated,  will  stand  revealed  in  clear  light : that  the 
Tailor  is  not  only  a Man,  but  something  of  a Creator  or 
Divinity.  Of  Franklin  it  was  said,  that  “ he  snatched  the 
Thunder  from  Heaven  and  the  Sceptre  from  Kings  ” : but 
which  is  greater,  I would  ask,  he  that  lends,  or  he  that 
snatches  ? For,  looking  away  from  individual  cases,  and  how 
a Man  is  by  the  Tailor  new-created  into  a Nobleman,  and 
clothed  not  only  with  Wool  but  with  Dignity  and  a Mystic 
Dominion, — is  not  the  fair  fabric  of  Society  itself,  with  all 
its  royal  mantles  and  pontifical  stoles,  whereby,  from  naked- 
ness and  dismemberment,  we  are  organised  into  Polities,  into 
nations,  and  a whole  cooperating  Mankind,  the  creation,  as 
has  here  been  often  irrefragably  evinced,  of  the  Tailor  alone  P 
— What  too  are  all  Poets  and  moral  Teachers,  but  a species 
of  Metaphorical  Tailors  ? Touching  which  high  Guild  the 
greatest  living  Guild-brother  has  triumphantly  asked  us : 
“ Nay  if  thou  wilt  have  it,  who  but  the  Poet  first  made  Gods 
for  men  ; brought  them  down  to  us ; and  raised  us  up  to 
them  ? ” 

c And  this  is  he,  whom  sitting  downcast,  on  the  hard  basis 
of  his  Shopboard,  the  world  treats  with  contumely,  as  the 
ninth  part  of  a man  ! Look  up,  thou  much-injured  one,  look 
up  with  the  kindling  eye  of  hope,  and  prophetic  bodings  of  a 
noble  better  time.  Too  long  hast  thou  sat  there,  on  crossed 
legs,  wearing  thy  ankle-joints  to  horn ; like  some  sacred  An- 
chorite, or  Catholic  Fakir,  doing  penance,  drawing  down 
Heaven’s  richest  blessings,  for  a world  that  scoffed  at  thee. 


232 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  III. 

Be  of  hope  ! Already  streaks  of  blue  peer  through  our  clouds; 
the  thick  gloom  of  Ignorance  is  rolling  asunder,  and  it  will 
be  Day.  Mankind  will  repay  with  interest  their  long-accumu- 
lated debt : the  Anchorite  that  was  scoffed  at  will  be  wor- 
shipped ; the  Fraction  will  become  not  an  Integer  only,  but 
a Square  and  Cube.  With  astonishment  the  world  will 
recognise  that  the  Tailor  is  its  Hierophant  and  Hierarch,  or 
even  its  God. 

‘As  I stood  in  the  Mosque  of  St.  Sophia,  and  looked  upon 
these  Four-and-Twenty  Tailors,  sewing  and  embroidering  that 
rich  Cloth,  which  the  Sultan  sends  yearly  for  the  Caaba  of 
Mecca,  I thought  within  myself : How  many  other  Unholies 
has  your  covering  Art  made  holy,  besides  this  Arabian  Whin- 
stone  ! 

‘ Still  more  touching  was  it  when,  turning  the  corner  of  a 
lane,  in  the  Scottish  Town  of  Edinburgh,  I came  upon  a Sign- 
post, whereon  stood  written  that  such  and  such  a one  was 
“ Breeches-Maker  to  his  Majesty”;  and  stood  painted  the 
Effigies  of  a Pair  of  Leather  Breeches,  and  between  the  knees 
these  memorable  words,  Sic  itur  ad  astra.  Was  not  this 
the  martyr  prison-speech  of  a Tailor  sighing  indeed  in  bonds, 
yet  sighing  towards  deliverance,  and  prophetically  appealing 
to  a better  day  ? A day  of  justice,  when  the  worth  of 
Breeches  would  be  revealed  to  man,  and  the  Scissors  become 
forever  venerable. 

‘ Neither,  perhaps,  may  I now  say,  has  his  appeal  been 
altogether  in  vain.  It  was  in  this  high  moment,  when  the 
soul,  rent,  as  it  were,  and  shed  asunder,  is  open  to  inspiring 
influence,  that  I first  conceived  this  Work  on  Clothes : the 
greatest  I can  ever  hope  to  do ; which  has  already,  after  long 
retardations,  occupied,  and  will  yet  occupy,  so  large  a section 
of  my  Life ; and  of  which  the  Primary  and  simpler  Portion 
may  here  find  its  conclusion.’ 


CHAP.  XII.] 


FAREWELL 


233 


CHAPTER  XII 
FAREWELL 

Teufelsdrockh’s  strange  manner  of  speech,  but  resolute,  truthful  character : 

His  purpose  seemingly  to  proselytise,  to  imite  the  wakeful  earnest  in  these 
dark  times.  Letter  from  Hofrath  Heuschrecke  announcing  that  Teufels- 
drockh  has  disappeared  from  Weissnichtwo.  Editor  guesses  he  will  appear 
again.  Friendly  Farewell. 

So  have  we  endeavoured,  from  the  enormous,  amorphous 
Plum-pudding,  more  like  a Scottish  Haggis,  which  Herr  Teu- 
felsdrockh  had  kneaded  for  his  fellow-mortals,  to  pick  out  the 
choicest  Plums,  and  present  them  separately  on  a cover  of  our 
own.  A laborious,  perhaps  a thankless  enterprise ; in  which, 
however,  something  of  hope  has  occasionally  cheered  us,  and 
of  which  we  can  now  wash  our  hands  not  altogether  without 
satisfaction.  If  hereby,  though  in  barbaric  wise,  some  morsel 
of  spiritual  nourishment  have  been  added  to  the  scanty  ration 
of  our  beloved  British  world,  what  nobler  recompense  could 
the  Editor  desire  ? If  it  prove  otherwise,  why  should  he 
murmur  ? Was  not  this  a Task  which  Destiny,  in  any  case, 
had  appointed  him ; which  having  now  done  with,  he  sees  his 
general  Day’s-work  so  much  the  lighter,  so  much  the  shorter  ? 

Of  Professor  Teufelsdrockh  it  seems  impossible  to  take  leave 
without  a mingled  feeling  of  astonishment,  gratitude,  and  dis- 
approval. Who  will  not  regret  that  talents,  which  might 
have  profited  in  the  higher  walks  of  Philosophy,  or  in  Art 
itself,  have  been  so  much  devoted  to  a rummaging  among 
lumber-rooms ; nay  too  often  to  a scraping  in  kennels,  where 
lost  rings  and  diamond-necklaces  are  nowise  the  sole  conquests  ? 
Regret  is  unavoidable  ; yet  censure  were  loss  of  time.  To 
cure  him  of  his  mad  humours  British  Criticism  would  essay  in 
vain : enough  for  her  if  she  can,  by  vigilance,  prevent  the 
spreading  of  such  among  ourselves.  What  a result,  should 
this  piebald,  entangled,  hyper-metaphorical  style  of  writing, 


234 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  III. 

not  to  say  of  thinking,  become  general  among  our  Literary 
men  ! As  it  might  so  easily  do.  Thus  has  not  the  Editor 
himself,  working  over  Teufelsdrockh’s  German,  lost  much  of 
his  own  English  purity  ? Even  as  the  smaller  whirlpool  is 
sucked  into  the  larger,  and  made  to  whirl  along  with  it,  so 
has  the  lesser  mind,  in  this  instance,  been  forced  to  become 
portion  of  the  greater,  and,  like  it,  see  all  things  figuratively : 
which  habit  time  and  assiduous  effort  will  be  needed  to 
eradicate. 

Nevertheless,  wayward  as  our  Professor  shows  himself,  is 
there  any  reader  that  can  part  with  him  in  declared  enmity  ? 
Let  us  confess,  there  is  that  in  the  wild,  much-suffering,  much- 
inflicting  man,  which  almost  attaches  us.  His  attitude,  we 
will  hope  and  believe,  is  that  of  a man  who  had  said  to  Cant, 
Begone ; and  to  Dilettantism,  Here  thou  canst  not  be ; and 
to  Truth,  Be  thou  in  place  of  all  to  me  : a man  who  had 
manfully  defied  the  4 Time-prince,’  or  Devil,  to  his  face ; nay 
perhaps,  Hannibal-like,  was  mysteriously  consecrated  from 
birth  to  that  warfare,  and  now  stood  minded  to  wage  the 
same,  by  all  weapons,  in  all  places,  at  all  times.  In  such  a 
cause,  any  soldier,  were  he  but  a Polack  Scythe-man,  shall  be 
welcome. 

Still  the  question  returns  on  us  : How  could  a man  occa- 
sionally of  keen  insight,  not  without  keen  sense  of  propriety, 
who  had  real  Thoughts  to  communicate,  resolve  to  emit  them 
in  a shape  bordering  so  closely  on  the  absurd  ? Which 
question  he  were  wiser  than  the  present  Editor  who  should 
satisfactorily  answer.  Our  conjecture  has  sometimes  been, 
that  perhaps  Necessity  as  well  as  Choice  was  concerned  in  it. 
Seems  it  not  conceivable  that,  in  a Life  like  our  Professor's, 
where  so  much  bountifully  given  by  Nature  had  in  Practice 
failed  and  misgone,  Literature  also  would  never  rightly 
prosper : that  striving  with  his  characteristic  vehemence  to 
paint  this  and  the  other  Picture,  and  ever  without  success, 
he  at  last  desperately  dashes  his  sponge,  full  of  all  colours, 
against  the  canvas,  to  try  whether  it  will  paint  Foam  ? With 


235 


chap,  xii.]  FAREWELL 

all  his  stillness,  there  were  perhaps  in  Teufelsdrockh  desper- 
ation enough  for  this. 

A second  conjecture  we  hazard  with  even  less  warranty. 
It  is,  that  Teufelsdrockh  is  not  without  some  touch  of  the 
universal  feeling,  a wish  to  proselytise.  How  often  already 
have  we  paused,  uncertain  whether  the  basis  of  this  so 
enigmatic  nature  were  really  Stoicism  and  Despair,  or  Love 
and  Hope  only  seared  into  the  figure  of  these  ! Remarkable, 
moreover,  is  this  saying  of  his : ‘ How  were  Friendship 

possible  ? In  mutual  devotedness  to  the  Good  and  True  : 
otherwise  impossible  ; except  as  Armed  Neutrality,  or  hollow 
Commercial  League.  A man,  be  the  Heavens  ever  praised,  is 
sufficient  for  himself ; yet  were  ten  men,  united  in  Love, 
capable  of  being  and  of  doing  what  ten  thousand  singly 
would  fail  in.  Infinite  is  the  help  man  can  yield  to  man.’ 
And  now  in  conjunction  therewith  consider  this  other  : ‘ It  is 
the  Night  of  the  World,  and  still  long  till  it  be  Day : we 
wander  amid  the  glimmer  of  smoking  ruins,  and  the  Sun  and 
the  Stars  of  Heaven  are  as  if  blotted  out  for  a season ; and 
two  immeasurable  Phantoms,  Hypocrisy  and  Atheism,  with 
the  Gowl,  Sensuality,  stalk  abroad  over  the  Earth,  and  call 
it  theirs  : well  at  ease  are  the  Sleepers  for  whom  Existence  is 
a shallow  Dream.1 

But  what  of  the  awestruck  Wakeful  who  find  it  a Reality  ? 
Should  not  these  unite ; since  even  an  authentic  Spectre  is 
not  visible  to  Two  ? — In  which  case  were  this  enormous 
Clothes- Volume  properly  an  enormous  Pitchpan,  which  our 
Teufelsdrockh  in  his  lone  watchtower  had  kindled,  that  it 
might  flame  far  and  wide  through  the  Night,  and  many  a dis- 
consolately wandering  spirit  be  guided  thither  to  a Brother’s 
bosom  ! — We  say  as  before,  with  all  his  malign  Indifference, 
who  knows  what  mad  Hopes  this  man  may  harbour  ? 

Meanwhile  there  is  one  fact  to  be  stated  here,  which  har- 
monises ill  with  such  conjecture ; and,  indeed,  were  Teufels- 
drockh  made  like  other  men,  might  as  good  as  altogether 
subvert  it.  Namely,  that  while  the  Beacon-fire  blazed  its 


236 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  m* 

brightest,  the  Watchman  had  quitted  it ; that  no  pilgrim 
could  now  ask  him  : Watchman,  what  of  the  Night  ? Pro- 
fessor Teufelsdrockh,  be  it  known,  is  no  longer  visibly  present 
at  Weissnichtwo,  but  again  to  all  appearance  lost  in  space  ! 
Some  time  ago,  the  Hofrath  Heuschrecke  was  pleased  to 
favour  us  with  another  copious  Epistle ; wherein  much  is  said 
about  the  4 Population-Institute 1 ; much  repeated  in  praise  of 
the  Paper-bag  Documents,  the  hieroglyphic  nature  of  which 
our  Hofrath  still  seems  not  to  have  surmised ; and,  lastly,  the 
strangest  occurrence  communicated,  to  us  for  the  first  time,  in 
the  following  paragraph  : 

4 Ezo.  Wohlgeboren  will  have  seen  from  the  public  Prints, 
with  what  affectionate  and  hitherto  fruitless  solicitude  Weiss- 
nichtwo regards  the  disappearance  of  her  Sage.  Might  but 
the  united  voice  of  Germany  prevail  on  him  to  return ; nay 
could  we  but  so  much  as  elucidate  for  ourselves  by  what 
mystery  he  went  away  ! But,  alas,  old  Lieschen  experiences 
or  affects  the  profoundest  deafness,  the  profoundest  ignorance  : 
in  the  Wahngasse  all  lies  swept,  silent,  sealed  up ; the  Privy 
Council  itself  can  hitherto  elicit  no  answer. 

4 It  had  been  remarked  that  while  the  agitating  news  of 
those  Parisian  Three  Days  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and 
dinned  every  ear  in  Weissnichtwo,  Herr  Teufelsdrockh  was 
not  known,  at  the  Gans  or  elsewhere,  to  have  spoken,  for  a 
whole  week,  any  syllable  except  once  these  three  : Es  gelit  an 
(It  is  beginning).  Shortly  after,  as  Ezo.  Wohlgeboren  knows, 
was  the  public  tranquillity  here,  as  in  Berlin,  threatened  by  a 
Sedition  of  the  Tailors.  Nor  did  there  want  Evil-wishers,  or 
perhaps  mere  desperate  Alarmists,  who  asserted  that  the 
closing  Chapter  of  the  Clothes-Volume  was  to  blame.  In 
this  appalling  crisis,  the  serenity  of  our  Philosopher  was  inde- 
scribable : nay,  perhaps  through  one  humble  individual,  some- 
thing thereof  might  pass  into  the  Ratli  (Council)  itself,  and 
so  contribute  to  the  country’s  deliverance.  The  Tailors  are 
now  entirely  pacificated. — 

4 To  neither  of  these  two  incidents  can  I attribute  our  loss ; 


FAREWELL 


237 


CHAP.  XII.] 


yet  still  comes  there  the  shadow  of  a suspicion  out  of  Paris 
and  its  Politics.  For  example,  when  the  Saint- Simonian 
Society  transmitted  its  Propositions  hither,  and  the  whole 
Gans  was  one  vast  cackle  of  laughter,  lamentation,  and 
astonishment,  our  Sage  sat  mute ; and  at  the  end  of  the 
third  evening  said  merely  : “ Here  also  are  men  who  have 
discovered,  not  without  amazement,  that  Man  is  still  Man ; 
of  which  high,  long-forgotten  Truth  you  already  see  them 
make  a false  application.”  Since  then,  as  has  been  ascer- 
tained by  examination  of  the  Post-Director,  there  passed  at 
least  one  Letter  with  its  Answer  between  the  Messieurs 
Bazard-Enfantin  and  our  Professor  himself ; of  what  tenor 
can  now  only  be  conjectured.  On  the  fifth  night  following, 
he  was  seen  for  the  last  time  ! 

‘ Has  this  invaluable  man,  so  obnoxious  to  most  of  the 
hostile  Sects  that  convulse  our  Era,  been  spirited  away  by 
certain  of  their  emissaries  ; or  did  he  go  forth  voluntarily  to 
their  head-quarters  to  confer  with  them  and  confront  them  ? 
Reason  we  have,  at  least  of  a negative  sort,  to  believe  the 
Lost  still  living ; our  widowed  heart  also  whispers  that  ere 
long  he  mil  himself  give  a sign.  Otherwise,  indeed,  his 
archives  must,  one  day,  be  opened  by  Authority ; where  much, 
perhaps  the  Palingenesie  itself,  is  thought  to  be  reposited.’ 


Thus  far  the  Hofrath ; who  vanishes,  as  is  his  wont,  too 
like  an  Ignis  Fatuus,  leaving  the  dark  still  darker. 

So  that  Teufelsdrockh’s  public  History  were  not  done,  then, 
or  reduced  to  an  even,  unromantic  tenor : nay,  perhaps  the 
better  part  thereof  were  only  beginning  ? We  stand  in  a 
region  of  conjectures,  where  substance  has  melted  into 
shadow,  and  one  cannot  be  distinguished  from  the  other. 
May  Time,  which  solves  or  suppresses  all  problems,  throw 
glad  light  on  this  also ! Our  own  private  conjecture,  now 
amounting  almost  to  certainty,  is  that,  safe-moored  in  some 
stillest  obscurity,  not  to  lie  always  still,  Teufelsdrockh  is 
actually  in  London ! 


238 


SARTOR  RESARTUS  [book  ill. 

Here,  however,  can  the  present  Editor,  with  an  ambrosial 
joy  as  of  over- weariness  falling  into  sleep,  lay  down  his  pen. 
Well  does  he  know,  if  human  testimony  be  worth  aught,  that 
to  innumerable  British  readers  likewise,  this  is  a satisfying 
consummation  ; that  innumerable  British  readers  consider  him, 
during  these  current  months,  but  as  an  uneasy  interruption 
to  their  ways  of  thought  and  digestion ; and  indicate  so 
much,  not  without  a certain  irritancy  and  even  spoken  invec- 
tive. For  which,  as  for  other  mercies,  ought  not  he  to  thank 
the  Upper  Powers  ? To  one  and  all  of  you,  O irritated 
readers,  he,  with  outstretched  arms  and  open  heart,  will  wave 
a kind  farewell.  Thou  too,  miraculous  Entity,  who  namest 
thyself  Yorke  and  Oliver,  and  with  thy  vivacities  and  geni- 
alities, with  thy  all-too  Irish  mirth  and  madness,  and  odour 
of  palled  punch,  makest  such  strange  work,  farewell ; long  as 
thou  canst,  far  e-well ! Have  we  not,  in  the  course  of  Eternity, 
travelled  some  months  of  our  Life-journey  in  partial  sight  of 
one  another ; have  we  not  existed  together,  though  in  a state 
of  quarrel  ? 


APPENDIX 


TESTIMONIES  OF  AUTHORS 


This  questionable  little  Book  was  undoubtedly  written  among 
the  mountain  solitudes,  in  1831 ; but,  owing  to  impediments 
natural  and  accidental,  could  not,  for  seven  years  more,  appear  as 
a Volume  in  England; — and  had  at  last  to  clip  itself  in  pieces, 
and  be  content  to  struggle  out,  bit  by  bit,  in  some  courageous 
Magazine  that  offered.  Whereby  now,  to  certain  idly  curious 
readers,  and  even  to  myself  till  I make  study,  the  insignificant  but 
at  last  irritating  question,  What  its  real  history  and  chronology 
are,  is,  if  not  insoluble,  considerably  involved  in  haze. 

To  the  first  English  Edition,  1838,  which  an  American,  or  two 
American  had  now  opened  the  way  for,  there  was  slightingly 
prefixed,  under  the  title  f Testimonies  of  Authors,’  some  straggle  of 
real  documents,  which,  now  that  I find  it  again,  sets  the  matter 
into  clear  light  and  sequence ; — and  shall  here,  for  removal  of  idle 
stumbling-blocks  and  nugatory  guessings  from  the  path  of  every 
reader,  be  reprinted  as  it  stood.  (Author  s Note  of  1868.) 


TESTIMONIES  OF  AUTHORS 

I.  Highest  Class,  Bookseller’s  Taster 

Taster  to  Bookseller. — ‘ The  Author  of  Teufelsdrockh  is  a person 
of  talent ; his  work  displays  here  and  there  some  felicity  of  thought 
and  expression,  considerable  fancy  and  knowledge : but  whether 
or  not  it  would  take  with  the  public  seems  doubtful.  For  a jeu 
d’ esprit  of  that  kind  it  is  too  long ; it  would  have  suited  better  as 
an  essay  or  article  than  as  a volume.  The  Author  has  no  great 
tact;  his  wit  is  frequently  heavy  ; and  reminds  one  of  the  German 
Baron  who  took  to  leaping  on  tables,  and  answered  that  he  was 
learning  to  be  lively.  Is  the  work  a translation  ? ’ 

Bookseller  to  Editor. — ‘ Allow  me  to  say  that  such  a writer 


a 


242 


APPENDIX 


requires  only  a little  more  tact  to  produce  a popular  as  well  as  an 
able  work.  Directly  on  receiving  your  permission,  I sent  your 
Ms.  to  a gentleman  in  the  highest  class  of  men  of  letters,  and  an 
accomplished  German  scholar : I now  enclose  you  his  opinion, 
which,  you  may  rely  upon  it,  is  a just  one ; and  I have  too  high  an 
opinion  of  your  good  sense  to”  &c.  &c. — Ms.  ( penes  7ios ),  London , 
17 th  September  1831. 


II.  Critic  of  the  Sun 

‘Fraser’s  Magazine  exhibits  the  usual  brilliancy,  and  also  the’ 
&c.  ‘ Sartor  Resarlus  is  what  old  Dennis  used  to  call  “ a heap  of 

clotted  nonsense,”  mixed  however,  here  and  there,  with  passages 
marked  by  thought  and  striking  poetic  vigour.  But  what  does 
the  writer  mean  by  “ Baphometic  fire-baptism”  ? Why  cannot  he 
lay  aside  his  pedantry,  and  write  so  as  to  make  himself  generally 
intelligible?  We  quote  by  way  of  curiosity  a sentence  from  the 
Sartor  Resartus ; which  may  be  read  either  backwards  or  forwards, 
for  it  is  equally  intelligible  either  way  : indeed,  by  beginning  at 
the  tail,  and  so  working  up  to  the  head,  we  think  the  reader  will 
stand  the  fairest  chance  of  getting  at  its  meaning : “ The  fire- 
baptized  soul,  long  so  scathed  and  thunder-riven,  here  feels  its 
own  freedom ; which  feeling  is  its  Baphometic  baptism : the 
citadel  of  its  whole  kingdom  it  has  thus  gained  by  assault,  and 
will  keep  inexpugnable ; outwards  from  which  the  remaining 
dominions,  not  indeed  without  hard  battering,  will  doubtless  by 

degrees  be  conquered  and  jiacificated.”  Here  is  a’ — — 

Sun  Newspaper,  1st  April  1834. 

III.  North-American  Reviewer 

‘ After  a careful  survey  of  the  whole  ground,  our  belief 

is  that  no  such  persons  as  Professor  Teufelsdrock  or  Counsellor 
Heuschrecke  ever  existed ; that  the  six  Paper-bags,  with  their 
China-ink  inscriptions  and  multifarious  contents,  are  a mere 
figment  of  the  brain  ; that  the  “ present  Editor  ” is  the  only  person 
who  has  ever  written  upon  the  Philosophy  of  Clothes ; and  that 
the  Sartor  Resartus  is  the  only  treatise  that  has  yet  appeared  upon 
that  subject; — in  short,  that  the  whole  account  of  the  origin  of 


TESTIMONIES  OF  AUTHORS  243 

the  work  before  us,  which  the  supposed  Editor  relates  with  so 
much  gravity,  and  of  which  we  have  given  a brief  abstract,  is,  in 
plain  English,  a hum. 

‘ Without  troubling  our  readers  at  any  great  length  with  our 
reasons  for  entertaining  these  suspicions,  we  may  remark,  that  the 
absence  of  all  other  information  on  the  subject,  except  what  is 
contained  in  the  work,  is  itself  a fact  of  a most  significant  character. 
The  whole  German  press,  as  well  as  the  particular  one  where  the 
work  purports  to  have  been  printed,  seems  to  be  under  the  control 
of  Stillschrveigen  and  Co. — Silence  and  Company.  If  the  Clothes- 
Philosophy  and  its  author  are  making  so  great  a sensation  through- 
out Germany  as  is  pretended,  how  happens  it  that  the  only  notice 
we  have  of  the  fact  is  contained  in  a few  numbers  of  a monthly 
Magazine  published  at  London  ? How  happens  it  that  no  intelli- 
gence about  the  matter  has  come  out  directly  to  this  country  ? 
We  pique  ourselves  here  in  New  England  upon  knowing  at  least 
as  much  of  what  is  going  on  in  the  literary  way  in  the  old  Dutch 
Mother-land  as  our  brethren  of  the  fast-anchored  Isle ; but  thus 
far  we  have  no  tidings  whatever  of  the  “ extensive  close-printed 
close-meditated  volume,”  which  forms  the  subject  of  this  pretended 
commentary.  Again,  we  would  respectfully  inquire  of  the  “ present 
Editor  ” upon  what  part  of  the  map  of  Germany  we  are  to  look  for 
the  city  of  Weissnichtwo — “ Know-not-wbere” — at  which  place  the 
work  is  supposed  to  have  been  printed,  and  the  Author  to  have 
resided.  It  has  been  our  fortune  to  visit  several  portions  of  the 
German  territory,  and  to  examine  pretty  carefully,  at  different 
times  and  for  various  purposes,  maps  of  the  whole ; but  we  have 
no  recollection  of  any  such  place.  We  suspect  that  the  city  of 
Know-not-where  might  be  called,  with  at  least  as  much  propriety, 
Nohody-knows-where , and  is  to  be  found  in  the  kingdom  of  Nowhere. 
Again,  the  village  of Entepfuhl — “Duck-pond” — where  the  supposed 
Author  of  the  work  is  said  to  have  passed  his  youth,  and  that  of 
Hinlerschlag,  where  he  had  his  education,  are  equally  foreign  to 
our  geography.  Duck-ponds  enough  there  undoubtedly  are  in 
almost  every  village  in  Germany,  as  the  traveller  in  that  country 
knows  too  well  to  his  cost,  but  any  particular  village  denominated 
Duck-pond  is  to  us  altogether  terra  incognita.  The  names  of  the 
personages  are  not  less  singular  than  those  of  the  places.  Who 


244 


APPENDIX 


can  refrain  from  a smile  at  the  yoking  together  of  such  a pair  of 
appellatives  as  Diogenes  Teufelsdrockh  ? The  supposed  bearer 
of  this  strange  title  is  represented  as  admitting,  in  his  pretended 
autobiography,  that  “ he  had  searched  to  no  purpose  through  all 
the  Heralds’  books  in  and  without  the  German  empire,  and 
through  all  manner  of  Subscribers’-lists,  Militia-rolls,  and  other 
Name-catalogues,”  but  had  nowhere  been  able  to  find  “the  name 
Teufelsdrockh,  except  as  appended  to  his  own  person.”  We  can 
readily  believe  this,  and  we  doubt  very  much  whether  any  Christian 
parent  would  think  of  condemning  a son  to  carry  through  life  the 
burden  of  so  unpleasant  a title.  That  of  Counsellor  Heuschrecke 
— “ Grasshopper  ” — though  not  offensive,  looks  much  more  like  a 
piece  of  fancy  work  than  a “fair  business  transaction.”  The  same 
may  be  said  of  Blumine — “ Flower-Goddess  ” — the  heroine  of  the 
fable  ; and  so  of  the  rest. 

‘ In  short,  our  private  opinion  is,  as  we  have  remarked,  that  the 
whole  story  of  a correspondence  with  Germany,  a university  of 
Nobody-knows-where,  a Professor  of  Things  in  General,  a Coun- 
sellor Grasshopper,  a Flower-Goddess  Blumine,  and  so  forth,  has 
about  as  much  foundation  in  truth  as  the  late  entertaining  account 
of  Sir  John  Herschel’s  discoveries  in  the  moon.  Fictions  of  this 
kind  are,  however,  not  uncommon,  and  ought  not,  perhaps,  to  be 
condemned  with  too  much  severity ; but  we  are  not  sure  that  we 
can  exercise  the  same  indulgence  in  regard  to  the  attempt,  which 
seems  to  be  made  to  mislead  the  public  as  to  the  substance  of  the 
work  before  us,  and  its  pretended  German  original.  Both  purport, 
as  we  have  seen,  to  be  upon  the  subject  of  Clothes,  or  dress. 
Clothes,  their  Origin  and  Influence,  is  the  title  of  the  supposed 
German  treatise  of  Professor  Teufelsdrockh,  and  the  rather  odd 
name  of  Sartor  Resartus — the  Tailor  Patched — which  the  present 
Editor  has  affixed  to  his  pretended  commentary,  seems  to  look  the 
same  way.  But  though  there  is  a good  deal  of  remark  throughout 
the  work  in  a half-serious,  half-comic  style  upon  dress,  it  seems  to 
be  in  reality  a treatise  upon  the  great  science  of  Things  in  General, 
which  Teufelsdrockh  is  supposed  to  have  professed  at  the  uni- 
versity of  Nobody-knows-where.  Now,  without  intending  to  adopt 
a too  rigid  standard  of  morals,  we  own  that  we  doubt  a little  the 
propriety  of  offering  to  the  public  a treatise  on  Things  in  General, 


TESTIMONIES  OF  AUTHORS  245 

under  the  name  and  in  the  form  of  an  Essay  on  Dress.  For 
ourselves,  advanced  as  we  unfortunately  are  in  the  journey  of  life, 
far  beyond  the  period  when  dress  is  practically  a matter  of  interest, 
we  have  no  hesitation  in  saying,  that  the  real  subject  of  the  work 
is  to  us  more  attractive  than  the  ostensible  one.  But  this  is 
probably  not  the  case  with  the  mass  of  readers.  To  the  younger 
portion  of  the  community,  which  constitutes  everywhere  the  very 
great  majority,  the  subject  of  dress  is  one  of  intense  and  para- 
mount importance.  An  author  who  treats  it  appeals,  like  the 
poet,  to  the  young  men  and  maidens — virginibus  puerisqiie — and 
calls  upon  them,  by  all  the  motives  which  habitually  operate  most 
strongly  upon  their  feelings,  to  buy  his  book.  When,  after  open- 
ing their  purses  for  this  purpose,  they  have  carried  home  the  work 
in  triumph,  expecting  to  find  in  it  some  particular  instruction  in 
regard  to  the  tying  of  their  neckcloths,  or  the  cut  of  their  cor- 
sets, and  meet  with  nothing  better  than  a dissertation  on  Things 
in  General,  they  will — to  use  the  mildest  term — not  be  in  very 
good  humour.  If  the  last  improvements  in  legislation,  which  we 
have  made  in  this  country,  should  have  found  their  way  to  England, 
the  author,  we  think,  would  stand  some  chance  of  being  Lynched. 
Whether  his  object  in  this  piece  of  supercherie  be  merely  pecuniary 
profit,  or  whether  he  takes  a malicious  pleasure  in  quizzing  the 
Dandies,  we  shall  not  undertake  to  say.  In  the  latter  part  of  the 
work,  he  devotes  a separate  chapter  to  this  class  of  persons,  from 
the  tenor  of  which  we  should  be  disposed  to  conclude,  that  he 
would  consider  any  mode  of  divesting  them  of  their  property  very 
much  in  the  nature  of  a spoiling  of  the  Egyptians. 

‘ The  only  thing  about  the  work,  tending  to  prove  that  it  is 
what  it  purports  to  be,  a commentary  on  a real  German  treatise, 
is  the  style,  which  is  a sort  of  Babylonish  dialect,  not  destitute,  it 
is  true,  of  richness,  vigour,  and  at  times  a sort  of  singular  felicity 
of  expression,  but  very  strongly  tinged  throughout  with  the  peculiar 
idiom  of  the  German  language.  This  quality  in  the  style,  how- 
ever, may  be  a mere  result  of  a great  familiarity  with  German 
literature  ; and  we  cannot,  therefore,  look  upon  it  as  in  itself 
decisive,  still  less  as  outweighing  so  much  evidence  of  an  opposite 
character.’ — North- American  Review,  No.  89,  October  1835. 


246 


APPENDIX 


IV.  New-England  Editors 

‘ The  Editors  have  been  induced,  by  the  express  desire  of  many 
persons,  to  collect  the  following  sheets  out  of  the  ephemeral 
pamphlets 1 in  which  they  first  appeared,  under  the  conviction 
that  they  contain  in  themselves  the  assurance  of  a longer  date. 

‘The  Editors  have  no  expectation  that  this  little  Work  will 
have  a sudden  and  general  popularity.  They  will  not  undertake, 
as  there  is  no  need,  to  justify  the  gay  costume  in  which  the  Author 
delights  to  dress  his  thoughts,  or  the  German  idioms  with  which 
he  has  sportively  sprinkled  his  pages.  It  is  his  humour  to  advance 
the  gravest  speculations  upon  the  gravest  topics  in  a quaint  and 
burlesque  style.  If  his  masquerade  offend  any  of  his  audience,  to 
that  degree  that  they  will  not  hear  what  he  has  to  say,  it  may 
chance  to  draw  others  to  listen  to  his  wisdom ; and  what  work 
of  imagination  can  hope  to  please  all  ? But  we  will  venture  to 
remark  that  the  distaste  excited  by  these  peculiarities  in  some 
readers  is  greatest  at  first,  and  is  soon  forgotten;  and  that  the 
foreign  dress  and  aspect  of  the  Work  are  quite  superficial,  and 
cover  a genuine  Saxon  heart.  We  believe,  no  book  has  been 
published  for  many  years,  written  in  a more  sincere  style  of  idio- 
matic English,  or  which  dicovers  an  equal  mastery  over  all  the 
riches  of  the  language.  The  Author  makes  ample  amends  for  the 
occasional  eccentricity  of  his  genius,  not  only  by  frequent  bursts  of 
pure  splendour,  but  by  the  wit  and  sense  which  never  fail  him. 

‘ But  what  will  chiefly  commend  the  Book  to  the  discerning 
reader  is  the  manifest  design  of  the  work,  which  is,  a Criticism  upon 
the  Spirit  of  the  Age — we  had  almost  said,  of  the  hour — in  which 
we  live ; exhibiting  in  the  most  just  and  novel  light  the  present 
aspects  of  Religion,  Politics,  Literature,  Arts,  and  Social  Life 
Under  all  his  gaiety  the  Writer  has  an  earnest  meaning,  and  dis- 
covers an  insight  into  the  manifold  wants  and  tendencies  of  human 
nature,  which  is  very  rare  among  our  popular  authors.  The  philan- 
thropy and  the  purity  of  moral  sentiment,  which  inspire  the  work, 
will  find  their  way  to  the  heart  of  every  lover  of  virtue.’ — Preface 
to  Sartor  Resartus  : Boston,  1835,  1837. 

Sunt,  Fuerunt  vel  Fuere. 

London,  30 th  June  1838. 

1 Fraser's  (London)  Magazine,  1833-4. 


INDEX  TO  SARTOR 


Action  the  true  end  of  Man,  126,  129. 

Actual,  the,  the  true  Ideal,  156,  157. 

Adamitism,  145. 

Afflictions,  merciful,  153. 

Ambition,  83. 

Apprenticeships,  97. 

Aprons,  use  and  significance  of,  83. 

Art,  all  true  Works  of,  symbolic,  178. 

Baphometic  Fire-baptism,  136. 

Battle-field,  a,  139. 

Battle,  Life-,  our,  69;  with  Folly  and  Sin, 
99,  102. 

Being,  the  boundless  Phantasmagoria  of, 
41. 

Belief  and  Opinions,  155,  156. 

Bible  of  Universal  History,  142,  155. 

Biography,  meaning  and  uses  of,  60 ; sig- 
nificance of  biographic  facts,  161. 

Blumine,  110;  her  environment,  111;  cha- 
racter, and  relation  to  Teufelsdrockli, 
112 ; blissful  bonds  rent  asunder,  115 ; 
on  her  way  to  England,  123. 

Bolivar’s  Cavalry-uniform,  39. 

Books,  influence  of,  138,  158. 

Childhood,  happy  season  of,  71 ; early  in- 
fluences and  sports,  73. 

Christian  Faith,  a good  Mother’s  simple 
version  of  the,  79  ; Temple  of  the,  now 
in  ruins,  154 ; Passive-half  of,  155. 

Christian  Love,  151 , 153. 

Church-Clothes,  170 ; living  and  dead 
Churches,  171 ; the  modern  Church 
and  its  Newspaper-Pulpits,  201. 

Circumstances,  influence  of,  75. 

Clergy,  the,  with  their  surplices  and  cas- 
sock-aprons girt-on,  34,  167. 

Clothes,  not  a spontaneous  growth  of  the 
human  animal,  but  an  artificial  device, 
2 ; analogy  between  the  Costumes  of 
the  body  and  the  Customs  of  the  spirit, 
27 ; Decoration  the  first  purpose  of 
Clothes,  30 ; what  Clothes  have  done 
for  us,  and  what  they  threaten  to  do, 
31,  45;  fantastic  garbs  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  36 ; a simple  costume,  37 ; tan- 


gible and  mystic  influences  of  Clothes, 
38,  47 ; animal  and  human  Clothing 
contrasted,  43 ; a Court-Ceremonial  mi- 
nus Clothes,  48 ; necessity  for  Clothes, 
50 ; transparent  Clothes,  52 ; all  Em- 
blematic things  are  Clothes,  57,  215 ; 
genesis  of  the  modern  Clothes-Philo- 
sopher,  64;  Character  and  conditions 
needed,  162,  165;  George  Fox’s  suit  of 
Leather,  168;  Church-Clothes,  170;  Old- 
Clothes,  190 ; practical  inferences,  216. 

Codification,  53. 

Combination,  value  of,  107,  235. 

Commons,  British  House  of,  33. 

Concealment.  See  Secrecy. 

Constitution,  our  invaluable  British,  198. 

Conversion,  158. 

Courtesy,  due  to  all  men,  190. 

Courtier,  a luckless,  38. 

Custom  the  greatest  of  Weavers,  206. 

Dandy,  mystic  significance  of  the,  217  ; 
dandy  worship,  219;  sacred  books,  220; 
articles  of  faith,  222 ; a dandy  house- 
hold, 226  ; tragically  undermined  by 
growing  Drudgery,  227. 

Death,  nourishment  even  in,  85,  134. 

Devil,  internecine  war  with  the,  10,  95, 
136,  147 ; cannot  now  so  much  as  be- 
lieve in  him,  134. 

Dilettantes  and  Pedants,  55 ; patrons  of 
Literature,  101. 

Diogenes,  168. 

Doubt  can  only  be  removed  by  Action, 
157.  See  Unbelief. 

Drudgery  contrasted  with  Dandyism,  223 ; 
‘Communion  of  Drudges,’  and  what 
may  come  of  it,  227. 

Duelling,  a picture  of,  144. 

Duty,  no  longer  a divine  Messenger  and 
Guide,  but  a false  earthly  Fantasm, 
130,  131 ; infinite  nature  of,  155. 

Editor’s  first  acquaintance  with  Teufels- 
droekh  and  his  Philosophy  of  Clothes, 
5 ; efforts  to  make  known  his  discovery 
to  British  readers,  7 ; admitted  intothe 

247 


248 


SARTOR  RESARTUS 


Teufelsdrockh  watch-tower,  16,  26;  first 
feels  the  pressure  of  his  task,  40 ; his 
bulky  Weissnichtwo  Packet,  58;  stre- 
nuous efforts  to  evolve  some  historic 
order  out  of  such  interminable  docu- 
mentary confusion,  62 ; partial  success, 
71,  80, 124 ; mysterious  hints,  161, 187 ; 
astonishment  and  hesitation,  172 ; con- 
gratulations, 214;  farewell,  233. 

Education,  influence  of  early,  75 ; insig- 
nificant portion  depending  on  Schools, 
81 ; educational  Architects,  84 ; the  in- 
spired Thinker,  181. 

Emblems,  all  visible  things,  57. 

Emigration,  183. 

Eternity,  looking  through  Time,  16,  58, 
178. 

Evil,  Origin  of,  151. 

Eyes  and  Spectacles,  54. 

Facts,  engraved  Hierograms,  for  which 
the  fewest  have  the  key,  161. 

Faith,  the  one  thing  needful,  129. 

Fantasy,  the  true  Heaven-gate  or  Hell- 
gate  of  man,  115,  175. 

Fashionable  Novels,  221. 

Fatherhood,  68. 

Feebleness,  the  true  misery,  131. 

Fire,  and  vital  fire,  56,  136. 

Force,  universal  presence  of,  56. 

Fortunatus’  Wishing-hat,  207,  209 

Fox’s,  George,  heavenward  aspirations 
and  earthly  independence,  166. 

Fraser’s  Magazine , 7,  242. 

Frederick  the  Great,  symbolic  glimpse  of, 
64. 

Friendship,  now  obsolete,  94 ; an  incre- 
dible tradition,  132,  185;  how  it  were 
possible,  171,  235. 

Futteral  and  his  Wife,  64. 

Future,  organic  filaments  of  the,  194. 

Genius,  the  world’s  treatment  of,  100. 

German  speculative  Thought,  3,  10,  22, 
25,  43 ; historical  researches,  28,  59. 

Gerund-grinding,  84. 

Ghost,  an  authentic,  210. 

God,  the  unslumbering,  omnipresent, 
eternal,  42;  God’s  presence  manifested 
to  our  eyes  and  hearts,  52 ; an  absentee 
God,  130. 

Goethe’s  inspired  melody,  202. 

Good,  growth  and  propagation  of,  79. 

Great  Men,  142.  See  Man. 

Gullibility,  blessings  of,  89. 

Gunpowder,  use  of,  31,  144. 

Habit,  how,  makes  dullards  of  us  all,  44. 

Half -men,  147. 

Happiness,  the  whim  of,  152. 


Hero-worship,  the  corner-stone  of  all 
Society,  201. 

Heuschrecke  and  his  biographic  docu- 
ments, 8;  his  loose,  zigzag,  thin-vis- 
aged  character,  19 ; unaccustomed  elo- 
quence, and  interminable  documentary 
superfluities,  58  ; bewildered  darkness, 
237. 

History,  all-inweaving  tissue  of,  15 ; by 
what  strange  chances  do  we  live  in,  38 ; 
a perpetual  Revelation,  142,  156,  202. 

Homer’s  Iliad,  179. 

Hope,  this  world  emphatically  the  place 
of,  129 ; false  shadows  of,  148. 

Horse,  his  own  tailor,  43. 

Ideal,  the,  exists  only  in  the  Actual,  156, 
158. 

Imagination.  See  Fantasy. 

Immortality,  a glimpse  of,  208. 

Imposture,  statistics  of,  89. 

Independence,  foolish  parade  of,  186, 199. 

Indifference,  centre  of,  136. 

Infant  intuitions  and  acquirements,  71 ; 
genius  and  dulness,  75. 

Inspiration,  perennial,  155,  167,  201. 

Invention,  31,  127. 

Invisible,  the,  Nature  the  visible  Garment 
of,  43  ; invisible  bonds,  binding  all  Men 
together,  48 ; the  Visible  and  Invisible, 
52,  173. 

Irish,  the,  Poor-Slave,  226. 

Isolation,  86. 

Jesus  of  Nazareth,  our  divinest  Symbol, 
178,  182. 

King,  our  true,  chosen  for  us  in  Heaven, 
198. 

Kingdom,  a man’s,  96. 

Know  thyself,  and  what  thou  canst  work 
at,  132. 

Labour,  sacredness  of,  181. 

Land-owning,  trade  of,  102. 

Language,  the  Garment  of  Thought,  57 ; 
dead  vocables,  84. 

Laughter,  significance  of,  25. 

Lieschen,  18. 

Life,  Human,  picture  of,  15, 121,  136, 149 ; 
life-purpose,  107;  speculative  mystery 
of,  132,  191,  210;  the  most  important 
transaction  in,  135 ; nothingness  of,  146, 

147. 

Light  the  beginning  of  all  Creation,  157. 

Logic-mortar  and  wordy  Air-castles,  42 ; 
underground  workshop  of  Logic,  53, 
176. 

Louis  xv.,  ungodly  age  of,  131. 

Love,  what  we  emphatically  name,  108; 


INDEX 


249 


pyrotechnic  phenomena  of,  108,  176 ; 
not  altogether  a delirium,  115 ; how  pos- 
sible, in  its  highest  form,  153, 171,  235. 

Ludicrous,  feeling  and  instances  of  the, 
38,  144. 

Magna  Charta,  215. 

Malthus’s  over-population  panic,  180. 

Man,  by  nature  naked , 2,  44,  49 ; essen- 
tially a tool-using  animal,  32 ; the  true 
Sheldnah,  52;  a divine  Emblem,  57, 174, 
177,  190,  212 ; two  men  alone  honour- 
able, 181.  See  Thinking  Man. 

Metaphors  the  stuff  of  Language,  57. 

Metaphysics  inexpressibly  unproductive, 
42,  54. 

Milton,  131. 

Miracles,  significance  of,  203,  209. 

Monmouth-Street,  and  its  “Ou’  clo’” 
Angels  of  Doom,  193. 

Mother’s,  a,  religious  influence,  79. 

Motive-Millwrights,  176. 

Mountain  scenery,  122. 

Mystery,  all-pervading  domain  of,  54. 

Nakedness  and  hypocritical  Clothing,  44, 
50 ; a naked  Court-Ceremonial,  48 ; a 
naked  Duke  addressing  a naked  House 
of  Lords,  49. 

Names,  significance  and  influence  of,  68, 
207. 

Napoleon  and  his  Political  Evangel,  142. 

Nature,  the  God-written  Apocalypse  of, 
41,  52 ; not  an  Aggegate  but  a Whole, 
55, 123, 196,  205  ; Nature  alone  antique, 
84 ; sympathy  with,  121, 143 ; the  ‘ Liv- 
ing Garment  of  God,’  150;  Laws  of 
Nature,  204. 

Necessity,  brightened  into  Duty,  78. 

Newspaper  Editors,  35;  our  Mendicant 
Friars,  201. 

Nothingness  of  life,  146. 

Obedience,  the  lesson  of,  79,  198. 

Orpheus,  209. 

Over-population,  180. 

Own,  conservation  of  a man’s,  159. 

Paradise  and  Fig-leaves,  29 ; prospective 
Paradises,  108,  116. 

Passivity  and  Activity,  78,  129. 

Past,  the,  inextricably  linked  with  the 
Present  136,  ; for  ever  extant,  207. 

Paupers,  what  to  do  with,  183. 

Peace-Era,  the  much-predicted,  140. 

Peasant  Saint,  the,  182. 

Pelham,  and  the  Whole  Duty  of  Dandies, 

222. 

Perseverance,  law  of,  189. 

Person,  mystery  of  a,  51,  107,  109,  190. 


Philosophies,  Cause-and-Effect,  28. 

Phoenix  Death-birth,  189,  194,  214. 

Property,  159. 

Proselytising,  6,  235. 

Radicalism,  Speculative,  10,  22,  50,  199. 

Raleigh’s,  Sir  Walter,  fine  mantle,  38. 

Religion,  dead  letter  and  living  spirit  of, 
92  ; weaving  new  vestures,  171,  220. 

Reverence,  early  growth  of,  79 ; indispen- 
sability of,  200. 

Richter,  25. 

Saints,  living  Communion  of,  197,  202. 

Sarcasm,  the  panoply  of,  104. 

Sartor  Resartus,  genesis  of,  8;  its  pur- 
pose, 213. 

Saturn  or  Chronos,  103. 

Savage,  the  aboriginal,  30. 

Scarecrow,  significance  of  the,  49. 

Sceptical  goose-cackle,  54. 

School  education,  insignificance  of,  82,  84; 
tin -kettle  terrors  and  incitements,  83; 
need  of  Soul- Architects,  85. 

Science,  the  Torch  of,  1 ; the  Scientific 
Head,  53. 

Secrecy,  benignant  efficacies  of,  174. 

Self-activity,  21. 

Self-annihilation,  149. 

Shame,  divine,  mysterious  growth  of,  31 ; 
the  soil  of  all  Virtue,  174. 

Silence,  143;  the  element  in  which  all 
great  things  fashion  themselves,  174. 

Simon’s,  Saint,  aphorism  of  the  golden 
age,  188 ; a false  application,  237. 

Smoke,  advantage  of  consuming  one’s, 

120. 

Society  founded  upon  Cloth,  40,  48,  50 ; 
how  Society  becomes  possible,  171 ; so- 
cial Death  and  New-Birth,  172,  188, 
195,  214 ; as  good  as  extinct,  184. 

Solitude.  See  Silence. 

Sorrow-pangs  of  Self -deliverance,  121, 127, 
128 ; divine  depths  of  Sorrow,  151 ; Wor- 
ship of  Sorrow,  154. 

Space  and  Time,  the  Dream-Canvas  upon 
which  Life  is  imaged,  42,  51,  204,  207. 

Spartan  wisdom,  183. 

Speculative  intuition,  40.  See  German. 

Speech,  great,  but  not  greatest,  174. 

Sphinx-riddle,  the  Universe  a,  102. 

Stealing,  159,  182. 

Stupidity,  blessings  of,  130. 

Style,  varieties  of,  57. 

Suicide,  133. 

Sunset,  74,  123. 

Swallows,  migrations  and  cooperative  in- 
stincts of,  76. 

Swineherd,  the,  74. 

Symbols,  173;  wondrous  agency  of,  174; 


250 


SARTOR  RESARTUS 


extrinsic  and  intrinsic,  177 ; superan- 
nuated, 179,  185. 

Tailors,  symbolic  significance  of,  230. 

Temptations  in  the  wilderness,  14G. 

Testimonies  of  Authors,  241. 

Teuf  elsdrockh’s  Philosophy  of  Clothes,  5 ; 
he  proposes  a toast,  11;  his  personal 
aspect,  and  silent  deepseated  Sanscu- 
lottism,  12;  thawed  into  speech,  14; 
memorable  watch-tower  utterances,  15; 
alone  with  the  Stars,  17 ; extremely 
miscellaneous  environment,  18 ; plain- 
ness of  speech,  22 ; universal  learning, 
and  multiplex  literary  style,  23:  am- 
biguous-looking morality,  24;  one  in- 
stance of  laughter,  25;  almost  total  want 
of  arrangement,  26 ; feeling  of  the  lu- 
dicrous, 38 ; speculative  Radicalism,  50; 
a singular  Character,  61;  Genesis  pro- 
perly an  Exodus,  64;  unprecedented 
Name,  69;  infantine  experience,  70; 
Pedagogy,  80 ; an  almost  Hindoo  Pas- 
sivity, 80  ; school-boy  jostling,  83  ; he- 
terogeneous University -Life,  88  ; fever- 
paroxysms  of  Doubt,  92 ; first  practical 
knowledge  of  the  English,  93  ; getting 
under  way,  95 ; ill  success,  100 ; glimpse 
of  high-life,  101 ; casts  himself  on  the 
Universe,  107 ; reverent  feeling  towards 
Women,  108;  frantically  in  love,  110; 
first  interview  with  Blumine,  112  ; in- 
spired moments,  114;  short  of  practical 
kitchen-stuff,  116 ; ideal  bliss,  and 
actual  catastrophe,  118 ; sorrows,  and 
peripatetic  stoicism,  119;  a parting 
glimpse  of  his  Beloved  on  her  way  to 
England,  123;  how  he  overran  the 
whole  earth,  124 ; Doubt  darkened  into 
Unbelief,  129 ; love  of  Truth,  131 ; a 
feehle  unit,  amidst  a threatening  In- 
finitude, 132;  Baphometic  Fire-baptism, 


135;  placid  indifference,  136 ; a Hyper- 
borean intruder,  144;  Nothingness  of 
life,  146;  Temptations  in  the  wilder- 
ness, 146 ; dawning  of  a better  day, 
149;  the  Ideal  in  the  Actual,  156 ; finds 
his  true  Calling,  158;  his  Biography 
a symbolic  Adumbration,  significant 
to  those  who  can  decipher  it,  160;  a 
wonder-lover,  seeker  and  worker, 
166;  in  Monmouth-Street  among  the 
Hebrews,  192;  concluding  hints,  233; 
his  public  History  not  yet  done,  perhaps 
the  better  part  only  beginning,  237. 

Thinking  Man,  a,  the  worst  enemy  of 
the  Prince  of  Darkness,  96,  158 ; true 
Thought  can  never  die,  196. 

Time-Spirit,  life-battle  with  the,  69,  103 ; 
Time,  the  universal  wonder-hider,  209 ; 

Titles  of  Honour,  198. 

Tools,  influence  of,  32 ; the  Pen,  most 
miraculous  of  tools,  158. 

Unbelief,  era  of,  91,  119 ; Doubt  darken- 
ing into,  128 ; escape  from,  147. 

Universities,  88. 

Utilitarianism,  128,  186. 

View-huntingand diseased  Self-conscious- 
ness, 124. 

Voltaire,  134 ; the  Parisian  Divinity,  200. 

War,  138. 

Wisdom,  52. 

Woman’s  influence,  108. 

Wonder  the  basis  of  Worship,  53 ; region 
of,  54. 

Words,  slavery  to,  42;  Word-mongering 
and  Motive-grinding,  130. 

Workshop  of  Life,  158.  See  Labour. 

Young  Men  and  Maidens,  102,  104. 


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19 


BOOK  I.]  SARTOR  RESARTUS 

such  extraordinary  Night-thoughts,  no  feeling  might  be  traced 
there ; but  with  the  light  we  had,  which  indeed  was  only  a 
single  tallow-light,  and  far  enough  from  the  window,  nothing 
save  that  old  calmness  and  fixedness  was  visible. 

These  were  the  Professor’s  talking  seasons  : most  commonly 
he  spoke  in  mere  monosyllables,  or  sat  altogether  silent  and 
smoked  ; while  the  visitor  had  liberty  either  to  say  what  he 
listed,  receiving  for  answer  an  occasional  grunt ; or  to  look 
round  for  a space,  and  then  take  himself  away.  It  was  a 
strange  apartment  ; full  of  books  and  tattered  papers,  and 
miscellaneous  shreds  of  all  conceivable  substances,  4 united  in 
a common  element  of  dust.’  Books  lay  on  tables,  and  below 
tables ; here  fluttered  a sheet  of  manuscript,  thei’e  a torn 
handkerchief,  or  nightcap  hastily  thrown  aside  ; ink-bottles 
alternated  with  bread-crusts,  coffee-pots,  tobacco-boxes,  Peri- 
odical Literature,  and  Bliicher  Boots.  Old  Lieschen  (Lisekin, 
’Liza),  who  was  his  bed-maker  and  stove-lighter,  his  washer 
and  wringer,  cook,  errand-maid,  and  general  lion’s-provider, 
and  for  the  rest  a very  orderly  creature,  had  no  sovereign 
authority  in  this  last  citadel  of  Teufelsdrockh ; only  some 
once  in  the  month  she  half-forcibly  made  her  way  thither, 
with  broom  and  duster,  and  (Teufelsdrockh  hastily  saving  his 
manuscripts)  effected  a partial  clearance,  a jail-delivery  of  such 
lumber  as  was  not  Literary.  These  were  her  Erdbeben  (earth- 
quakes), which  Teufelsdrockh  dreaded  worse  than  the  pesti- 
lence ; nevertheless,  to  such  length  he  had  been  forced  to 
comply.  Glad  would  he  have  been  to  sit  here  philosophising 
forever,  or  till  the  litter,  by  accumulation,  drove  him  out  of 
doors ; but  Lieschen  was  his  right-arm,  and  spoon,  and  neces- 
sary of  life,  and  would  not  be  flatly  gainsayed.  We  can  still 
remember  the  ancient  woman  ; so  silent  that  some  thought 
her  dumb ; deaf  also  you  would  often  have  supposed  her ; for 
Teufelsdrockh,  and  Teufelsdrockh  only,  would  she  serve  or 
give  heed  to  ; and  with  him  she  seemed  to  communicate 
chiefly  bv  signs  ; if  it  were  not  rather  by  some  secret  divina- 
tion that  she  guessed  all  his  wants,  and  supplied  them. 


THE  CENTENARY  CARLYLE 


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DATES  AND  ORDER  OF  PUBLICATION 

1896 

1.  Sartor  Resartus,  .....  October 

2.  The  French  Revolution  : A History.  Vol.  11 

3.  ,,  ,,  „ ,,  2 vNovember 

4*  );  a i) 

5.  On  Heroes,  Hero-Worship,  and  the  Heroic 

in  History,  .....  December 

6.  Oliver  Cromwell’s  Letters  and  Speeches.  Vol.  11 

7.  ,,  ,,  ,,  ..  2 1 

>>  >>  » 

8*  }>  >>  >> 

10.  Past  and  Present, 

11.  The  Life  of  John  Sterling, 

12.  History  of  Frederick  the  Great. 

■HI*  J3  33  3 3 

14 

>>  >3  33 

Lb  33  33  33 

I®.  ,,  33  33 

17*  33  33  3, 

13.  ,,  „ ,, 

19*  33  33  33 

20.  Latter  Day  Pamphlets,  . 

21.  Tales  Translated  from 

Richter, 


1897 

o /'January 

» 4J 

. February 
. March 
Vol.  l] 

„ 2 J- April 

” 4 

„ 51-May 
33  Gj 

s}June 

. July 
Tieck, 

. August 

22.  W ilhelm  Meister’s  Apprenticeship  and  Travels  1 

Translated  from  Goethe.  Vol.  1 ^September 

23.  Wilhelm  Meister,  . . . . ,,  2 1 

24.  The  Life  of  Friedrich  Schiller,  Comprehending 


Musaf.us, 


an  Examination  of  His  W orks, 

25.  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Essays. 

26.  „ „ „ 

27-  33  33  33 

28.  ,,  ,,  ,, 

29.  ,,  ,,  „ 

30.  ,,  ,, 


October 


Vol.  11 

1 1 


2 -November 


33  33  33  33  5 ^December 

33  33  33  33 

containing  the  General  Index  to  the  Centenary  Edition. 


